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An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. LV1 

Xonfton : 



i 9 i3 




ACROSTICS x * 48,115,172,263367,435 


ARTIST IN TEN MINUTES, HOW TO BECOME AN .. .. An Interview with Ernest H. Mills. 4 7» 


BALLUN ATICS, THE Winifred Graham. 116 


BLACK WOMAN, THE "* Violet M. Methley. 59 




The Battle of Arras . . . . ' a8o 

The Battle of Messines - 348 



John J. Ward, F.E.S. 443 


CHESS CHARM, THE W. H. Watts. 374 

CHESS, CINEMA T.B.Rowland. 457 

CHINA MANDARIN, THE Ianthe Jerrold. 3 



CORPORAL'S GUARD W. Pett Ridge. 276 



DANCE GIRL, THE E.R.Punshon. 105 

DARK, IN THE R. S. Warren Bell. 141 

DAVID AND JONATHAN E. Temple Thurston. 155,293,355 


DIRTY WORK W.W.Jacobs. 401 

- EARTH IS MADE OF GLASS, THE " *~ h Zceston. 1 73 

EILEEN E.Bland. 471 

FEAST OF EPICURUS, A ; May Edynton. q6 

FOCII AS HE IS, GENERAL ... •• Henri de Forge. 164 

FOUR WISHES, THE .. OO P r 9 1 . 1 ? 3 fC5 n Charlotte Bronte. 461 




GENEROSITY OF MAGD A, THE.. .. > William Caine. 259 

GIRL IN THE VILLA, THE Melville Davisson Post. 4° 

GIRLS, THE - G.H. Powell. 397 

GIRL WHO WOULD, THE. . . . ■ May Edginton, 249 

HAND IN THE DARK, THE I L. J. Beeston. ' 368 

HORSE IN ART, THE ' Walter Winans. 327 


IN WILD STRAWBERRY TIME . . . . • • .' Wm. Gerard Chapman. 30 


LILAC RIBBON, THE Lynn Doyle. 182 

LITTLE PUBLICITY, A Sophie Kerr. 271 

LOVE, ALL ABOUT . . . . _ By some of our most Famous Novelists. 187 

LUNT, WILMOT, THE HUMOUR OF .... Adrian Mat gaux. 65 

MATTER FOR BOCCACCIO, A , Roland Pertwee. 413 

MEDALS, THE GERMAN MIND IN .. .' Mayo Dudley. 12 


MIND-PICTURES ' David Devant. 178 

MISS DORIS'S " RAFFLES " Jack Boyle. 79 

MODERN METHQD, THE William Caine. 342 

MONSIEUR FELlClTfi AND MIRIEL ... .. .. „ Hugh Walpole. 19 

MYSTERY " Bartimeus." 168 

NATURE OF THE BEAST, THE E. Temple Thurston. 383 

ORCHESTRA OF DEATH, THE } lambe Jerrold. 319 

PALLA FISHING . . . . Maurice Nicholls. 1 1 

PEACE F. Britten Austin. 213 

PERPLEXITIES Henry E. Dudeney. 74,135,228,304,380 



PIG AND POULTRY PROBLEM, THE Leonard Larkin. i 36 

POETIC JUSTICE Stephen McKenna. 49 

POSV OF POSERS. A Henry E. Dudeney. 482 

PROBLEM CLUB, THE " .. Barry Pain. 

VIIL — The Impersonation Problem 70 

IX.— The Alibi Problem. 149 

X.— The Threepenny Problem 203 

XL— The Q-Loan Problem 2S9 

XIL— The Pig-Keeper's Problem 377 

PROPER GENTLEMAN, THE .. .. Hylton Clearer. 426 

Original from 

by L^OOgle 


iv. , INDEX. 


RAYMOND THE CLOWN /. .. .. .. .. Mme. Maurice Maeterlinck. 409 

RECORD, ON . . . . Wilson Macnair. 223 

SHAREHOLDERS .. W.W.Jacobs. 307 

SHOCK FOR UNCLE TIMOTHY, A . . ~\ Keble Howard. 238 

SPELL OF GREATNESS, THE .. .. , Mick P. F. Ritchie. 392 


An Interview with Sir Oliver Lodge. 432 



TEN YEARS DEEP L. J '. Becston. 43'' 

THIRTEENTH PEARL. THE >.. Arthur Stringer. 195 

THREE OF THEM. Chats with Children ..* -. A. Conan Doyle. 

III.— Speculations .. .. .. .. 37 

IV.— The Leatherskin Tribe 112 

• V.— All About Naughtiness and Frogs and Historical Pictures 42 2 

TRICKS OF FAMOUS CONJURERS, FAMOUS ._ .. .. David Devant. 445 

WIDOW, THE W.\B. Maxwell. 33 x 


WOMAN'S WIT % George Hibbard. 449 

/*" Original from 



m5 'children * A- CON AN DOYLE 







fttraet. Strand. London. EaaL 




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Awd U-hfH thr otttlt * fill lhAi.J 
Star may a*k H* toth tv tea. 

Here are 


No 736. 

WATCHING those little feet scampering About the 
seashore, you will wonder, nt*yl>e. where nil the 
energy comes from. The force that keeps the 
children on the move from morn till eve i* thejr intense 
vitality. Foot -cove rines that restrict the movement of 
the foot muscles will produce fatigue long tjefore Phat- 
Pheet sandals whii;h arc sb-ipe'l in Nature's own 
freedom-loving way and never pinch or cramp. 

At $h* nun! nf * jferfrvt day B#r,ty will *mi|wh!di>wn Wwimfij 
the ftaoi. nwrft-pmieHiiiK phrt?tl— flYLIrriounly tlraJ, lnJt niit 
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■M i to the *«ir ami t^ji-f of Buoh active little feet sli Betty'*, 

No. 73fl, in Tan, 

Sin*; 4-5 flf-7 Vj-1Q lot -12 IS* — I 1*— 2 2* -9 

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HtorkM ^Ih^h with pr**y i <i\l ■ w]i \ re wiuh<tMi» rhrcme M|ii*ri» 

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We want you to see these sandals — to handle 
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Write for th+ Fhat~Ph**t BookUt — 

Daniel Aleal 

The Children t SAlvmafcrt. 

2-12B, Keniipgtofi Hiffh Street, W.8. 

Alio tit r*t— 70, Etlgirare Rrthi. B*.2 r 



Contents for July, 1918. 

The rights of translation and reproduction in the contents of this 















THE PROBLEM CLUB. VIIL— The Impersonation Problem ... 




number are strictly reserved. 

ianthe jerrold ... 
Maurice Nicholls 

Mayo Dudley 

hugh walpole 

Edwin Carty Ranck ... 
wm. gerard chapman... 

a. conan doyle .- 
melville davisson post 

stephen mckenna 

r. f. foster 

violet m. methley 

adrian margaux 

barry pain 

henry e. dudeney 


. II 

. 12 

. 19 
. 26 
. 30 

. 37 

W*F THE STRAND MAGAZINE ii printed by R. CUy flc Sow. United, end published monthly by the Proprietor!, 
George Newnes, Limited, 8 to II. Southampton Street, Strand. London. England. Subscription price to any part of the 
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THE STRAND MAGAZINE may be obtained to order from Booksellers for 2s.. or post free for 2s. 4d. direct from the 

American Agents : The International News Company. 83 and 85. Duane Street. New York. 

VP» NOTICE TO CONTRIBUTORS.— MSS. and Drawings must be submitted at the owner's risk, and the Editor will not 
guarantee their safety, though when stamps sre enclosed he will endeavour to return them. MSS. should be typewritten. 
The Index to Volume 55 can be obtained on application to the Publisher. 

fjP* Most of the Original Drawings of the Illustrations In this Magazine are for sale. Terns nay be bad on 
application to tbc Cliche Department. George Newnes, Ltd., 8-11, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 


l!!Ii!i!!!!:!;:i 1 i: , li;!i!!! : : : I!!'l!!:: i l!! 






for Day and Night Wear 
of every description. 

Write for illustrated pattern booklet to the Manufacturers :-*- 

William Hollins & Co., Ltd. (Trade only), 
122a, Viyella House, Newgate Street, London, E.C.I. 

; irtrtl >rigrri"atfrom " ; 




J Ri »M TKI-: MOB BKfJ tW/ h 

by Google 

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W. 56. 

JULY, 1918. 

No. 33U 



Illustrated by 
Frank Gillett, R.L 

the quaint handiwork of long-dead Eastern 
artists. Between the two long narrow windows 
that looked upon Regent's Park a high cupboard 
stood, on whose shelves gleamed row T s of plates 
coloured like Michaelmas daisies and monthly 
roses ; this was the famous Laong Si porcelain 
whose beauty had been so unsuccessfully repro- 
duced in the Curio. 

And to the right of the fireplace, by Miss 
Penberthy's side, was the greatest treasure of all. 
This was a life -size mandarin of coarse china- 
clay, who sat with crossed short legs on a square 
rose-coloured cushion, A wonderful piece of 
work it was. extraordinarily lifelike and faithful 
to the smallest detail. The head was hung 
loose on a bar inside the body, and a touch would 
send it nodding with a grotesque effect of 
drowsiness, The broad yellow face was seamed 
with wrinkles and the great cheeks sagged heavily 
towards the chin. The eyes were closed, and 
it was as though the pouched and lashiess lids 
had but just fallen in a moment's somnolence. 
A long narrow black moustache hung limply 
over the bosom of the dress, and at the corner 
of the mouth was a great brown mole from which 
three long straggling hairs sprouted, The fat 
yellow hands with their long, taper nails were 
clasped across the enormous paunch. Upon the 
head a black conical cap with a round button of 
red glass, and on the huge squatting body a 
robe of deep yellow, embroidered on chest and 
back with flying cranes* 

The silent china figure was instinct with life 
anil forte. It was not an ornament that the 
person of average imagination would have cared 
to have in his living room, It drew* the eyes with 
an extraordinary fascination, and filled the mind 
with flying suggestions of evil. Miss Penberthy, 
however, was an intellectual woman, but not an 
imaginative one. She cherished the mandarin 
because it had been given her by her lather the 
year before his deaths and for her father she had 
felt a great affection* 


ISS PENBERTHY sat before a 
clear leaping lire with a copy 
of the Curia in one hand and 
a cigarette in the other. Her 
foot tapped the fender im- 
patiently and she frowned. 
She was reading one of her 
own articles, the Latest to ap- 
pear; it dealt w-ith Chinese porcelain of the Laong 
Si period, and was illustrated with two full -page 
reproductions of her own famous Laong Si plates. 
The reproductions were printed carelessly and 
crudely and did no justice to the delicate beauty 
of the originals. Therefore Miss Penberthy 

It was five o'clock of an autumn afternoon 
and already dusk was drawing down. Miss 
Penberthy read on to the end of a paragraph 
that blurred before her eyes and put the magazine 
down. The firelight gleamed on her silver 
shoe-buckles and shining silken stockings, A 
tall thin woman of iorty-six, she had been 
beautiful in her arrogant youth, and still retained 
a certain aquiline attractiveness, although long 
residence in the Orient had sallowed her pale 
skin and a loveless life had hardened her narrow 

Her father, Sir Evelyn Penberthy. had been 
British Consul at Peking, and there she had spent 
eleven years of her life ; she returned to England 
when she was thirty-four, and three years later 
Sir Evelyn died, leaving his only child with an 
income of rather under seven hundred a year. 
and one of the finest collections of Chinese curios 
in the world. 

They shone around her now, those ancient 
treasures ; for the walk of her drawing-room were 
lined with glass-fronted cupboards, filled with 

VoL lvi.-t 


Findlay Osborn, the celebrated Eastern expert, 
had pronounced the figure to date from the 
seventeenth century, and it was evident from 
the embroidered robe and red-buttoned cap 
that the original had been of high rank. On a 
close examination Osborn had discovered a few 
tiny Chinese ciphers engraved upon one of the 
tassels of the, cushion. He had examined them 
eagerly through a microscope, finding, however, 
to his disappointment, no name, but a short 
sentence which seemed singularly inapplicable. 
" He hath the voice of a bird," thus Osborn 
translated the inscription. 

Even Osborn had cried out at the eerie sugges- 
tion of life that hung around the still figure, and 
had protested half-jokingly against its installa- 
tion in Miss Penberthy's drawing-room. 

Miss Penberthy laughed with gentle incom- 
prehension of her old friend's point of view. 

" He shall be my mascot," she said, " and I 
will always keep him under my eye. Besides, 
he was father's gift." 

" Better not," said old Findlay Osborn ; " but 
if you will have him here, don't look at him too 
much. Don't think of him too' much. He has 
the devil of a way of drawing one's attention. 
There's a — I don't know what to call it — a 
waiting look about the thing. ' There are more 
J things in heaven and earth/ you know, Miss 

Miss Penberthy smiled again uncoraprehend- 
ingly. She knew all that was necessary about 
the things of earth and had no use for the things 
of heaven. 

So for thirteen years the mandarin had sat 
placidly on his cushion by the fire, hands folded, 
eyes closed, loose underlip a-droop ; and always 
his yellow face drew the eyes with a horrible 
attraction, and always there was about him that 
air of listening and of waiting. 

Miss Penberthy rose and went to draw the 
curtains and fasten the folding shutters before 
switching up the light. An owl hooted from the 
near Zoo, and there was a sound of brisk footfalls 
on the pavement arjd a murmur of voices. 

And it was then that Miss Penberthy heard a 
noise that made her pause and listen for it to 
come again. It was a noise like the slamming 
of a hundred front doors at once, and it seemed 
to come from far away. There was no further 
sound, and she pulled the shutters vigorously 
together and fastened them. She would make 
up the fire and then go and get some tea. Her 
daily servant had gone home for the afternoon, 
and a pleasant fire, together with some newly- 
arrived reviews and magazines, had made her 
neglect her afternoon's refreshment. 

She looked about for the poker. And there 
came again the sound she had heard before, three 
times in quick succession. Boom ! Boom ! boom ! 

And Miss Penberthy realized that it was the 
ominous sound of heavy guns in the far distance. 

She went to the door, and just as she reached 
it the noise of guns crashed forth from Hampstead 
Heath ; the floor shook beneath her feet. Crash ! 
and she could hear the upward whine and whistle 
of the shells. As she went down the stairs with 
involuntarily quickened steps and turned the 

light up in the basement kitchen there came a 
deafening reverberation of sound, like the beating 
of a thousand hammers on an immense brass 

As Miss Penberthy filled the kettle at the tap 
and heard the crashing and whistling of the 
shells she was conscious of a heart beating 
rapidly, and of a quick sense of satisfaction in the 
knowledge that the kitchen was almost under- 

She decided to fetch a magazine from upstairs ; 
it was no use sitting doing nothing, and the raid 
was likely to go on for some time. 

As she reached the drawing-room on the first 
floor there was a crash that made the windows 
tremble in the frames. Miss Penberthy con- 
quered an impulse to run, and walked slowly 
towards the door. It sounded very close ; and 
one distinct sound like that probably meant a 
bomb ; there was no reason why the next bomb 
should not fall on her own house ; not likely, 
of course, and, of course, one was practically safe 
in the basement. 

All this passed through her head as she turned 
the handle of the door ; and at that moment the 
dying fire made a sudden leap and a bright 
tongue, of flame shot up and illuminated the 
dark room for a quick moment. It shone 
especially on the smooth features of the Chinese 

"He's not very heavy," she said to herself , 
and went rapidly to the fireside ; she clasped 
the china figure and raised it in her arms. It was 
heavy, but not heavier than a small child, for 
the china was thin and the figure hollpw. She 
carried it downstairs amidst a perfect tornado of 
noise ; the guns were never still. 

She stood the mandarin gently down by the 
dresser, as far as possible from the window, and 
took breath. Now that the impulse was over 
she was inclined to smile at herself for bringing 
the thing downstairs. 

So she made herself some tea, and sat down by 
the table on one of the uncomfortable wooden 
chairs. The racket of shells going up from the 
guns all around London f was really deafening, 
and the noise seemed to grow louder every 
moment. She was conscious of a certain rest- 
lessness, the result of slightly disordered nerves, 
and was surprised at her own agitation. There 
was nothing to worry about, she told herself, 
and drew herself sharply upright. The chance 
of a bomb falling on her house was very remote, 
and supposing such a thing did happen — well I 
what must be, must be . . . and it would 
probably be a speedy death. 

Miss Penberthy found herself listening intently 
to the noise of the guns, trying to distinguish 
the explosion of bombs from the crash of friendly 
defending shells. She heard once a metallic 
and shattering sound that seemed so close it 
might have been a bomb dropped in the opposite 
park. Once or twice she thought she could 
distinguish the heavy purr of machinery above 
the clatter and whistle of the guns. 

She was conscious of an acute and quite 
unaccustomed drsire for company. Miss Pen- 

^^jf^RW&^rcte 1 '" 8 - for although 


her dignity and decisiveness had attracted many 
women, and particularly young girls, towards 
her for a while, her absolute lack of emotion and 
a certain hard unbeautiful agnosticism had sooner 
or later repelled each one. 

The gunfire ceased ior several minutes, but 
broke out again with a more tremendous fury 
of sound than ever. Miss Penberthy got up and 
poked the fire, stirring it to a bright blaze, and 
then went and sat down again on a chair by 
the window. Her eyes, roving about the room 
in a vague search for something to occupy her 
hands, fell on the Chinese mandarin where he 
sat by the dresser, and remained there, held by 
an awful fascination. 

Her lips fell apart and every pulse in her body 
seemed to be stilled ; for the eyes of the figure 
were raised and a pair of dull, narrow, slanting 
eyes were looking straight into her own. 

A cold horror seized her ; she felt herself 
unable to move, and her eyes could not leave 
those sinister black ones that looked out at 
her unwinkingly from the dead china face. 

With a furious effort she pulled herself together. 
It was absurd, ridiculous ! Her nerves were 
perhaps slightly upset by the raid and she was 
imagining impossibilities. 

She felt sick and sleepy ; a great lassitude was 
on her limbs. It seemed to be from very far 
away that she heard the booming of the guns ; 
their whistles and crashes were rather like the 
noises that resound in the ears of a patient under 
an anaesthetic. The words of Findlay Osborn 
repeated themselves over and over in her brain 
and seemed to keep time to the crashing of the 

" There are more things in heaven and earth," 
she found herself whispering with dry lips. She 
wondered in a vague, tired sort of way if she 
were going to be ill. Her eyelids were heavy as 
lead, but with a great effort she opened her eyes. 

A blaze of light smote upon them, so that she 
blinked, and could not see before her for a 
moment. Miss Penberthy wondered if she were 
in delirium, for she was not sitting in her warm 
kitchen any longer, but standing in a huge open 
hall. It was daylight, and an extraordinary 
white brilliance was upon everything ; then she - 
saw that the domed roof far above her head was 
of crystal that glittered with blue and red points 
of light ; through it she could see a deep blue 

Straight before her and about fifty yards away 
many people in loose clothes of brilliant colours 
were standing in a semicircle with their faces 
away from her ; she noticed strange beasts and 
birds embroidered heavily on most of their 
silken backs. As she watched they raised their 
arms above their heads, and then bowed slowly 
towards the ground. Then she saw that they 
were grouped around a throne that stood on a 
low dais, and that on either side of the throne 
there were many more men standing stiff and 
still ; they had the appearance of soldiers 
standing on guard. 

The throne was of carven jade with thick legs 
cunningly fashioned like the talons of great 
birds, and a round canopy of fringed embroidered 

tapestry threw a shadow over him who sat 
beneath it. 

The man who sat there cross-legged upon the 
throne was of huge corpulence, and was clothed 
in a robe of deep yellow ; he leant negligently 
back, and his long, taper fingers grasped the 
carven arms of his majestic seat. 

Miss Penberthy felt a chill at her heart. She 
knew, before raising her glance to the face, whose 
eyes they were that looked out from the shadow 
of the canopy. A huge pale yellow face with lax 
cheeks, loose hanging lips with deep lines at the 
corners, bulging wriifkled lids that overhung 
small dull black eyes ; as she had seen the china 
figure of the mandarin sit day after day by her 
own comfortable fireside, so now she saw that 
figure in the flesh in all the pomp of his temporal 
splendour ; and she was afraid, for the black 
eyes seemed to look straight at her with a 
malignancy that turned her fingers to ice. 

Then memory and common sense came back 
to her. 

" I am dreaming," said Miss Penberthy in a 
low, matter-of-fact voice. " There is nothing to 
be frightened of — nothing. This is a dream. 
Soon I shall wake up." 

And she realized that although every one of 
the guard around the dais was looking straight 
at her, not one of them had given a sign of having 
seen her. So her fear left her, but she had still a 
vague uneasiness. 

She became aware of a low monotonous chant- 
ing sound that came apparently from the semi- 
circle of men who made obeisance round the 
throne. She strained her ears to listen, but could 
not distinguish any meaning, although she 
thought she heard repeatedly the words " Hang 
Aku," intoned in a long drawl ; and at every 
recurrence of this name the singers raised their 
arms and bowed to the floor. 

Miss Penberthy began to lose all feeling of 
alarm, and knew only the pleasurable thrill of 
the auditor, when loud music crashes out and the 
curtain slowly rises. Indeed the scene before 
her eyes might have been a tableau in some 
Oriental play. Through an uncurtained archway 
she could see part of another brightly-tapestried 
room, and a farther archway round which four 
armed men stood in conversation. 

As Miss Penberthy watched, the singers stood 
upright, and finished their monotonous chant 
with a loud shout, raising their arms towards 
the roof. 

The mandarin sat like a figure of clay, and gave 
no sign of having watched or listened to the 
performance. Not even his eyes seemed alive ; 
black and dull, they stared out from his great 
square face like pieces of stone set in the head of 
some pagan idol. Miss Penberthy watched with 
fascinated attention for his first movement. 
The soldiers and all who stood around his throne 
seemed also waiting with hushed expectancy ; 
not one of them moved ; only the four men in the 
adjoining hall talked all at once with emphasis 
and gesticulation. 

There was absolute stillness for the space of 
about one minute. Trr^ the mandarin made a 

raoti nj«tfeWtf MtrfiGftfi a few ^ 



by Google 

Original from 


without turning his head or moving his fixed 
eyes. Miss Penberthy had studied the Chinese 
language and understood it well, but the tone of 
the great mandarin's voice was so strange and 
unexpected that she started with surprise and 
horror and lost the purport of his speech. It was 
an extraordinary voice to proceed from that 
massive figure. It was thin and high, but per- 
fectly clear, and gave the effect of being heard 
from a great distance. Rather pretty in tone 
and with a slightly laboured enunciation, it was 
like the voice of a child heard over the tele- 
phone. Each syllable was preceded by a kind 
of shrill whistling noise, which might have been 
due to some defect in the formation of the 

The calmly spoken words. seemed to cause 
surprise and dismay among his attendants. 
There was consternation in their movements and 
expression, and a hum of subdued talk arose 
among them. Two of them stepped out and 
stood before the throne as if awaiting orders. 
They were both clothed in coats of fine chain- 
mail and wore flat-topped helmets. The 
mandarin spoke again, -his body still immobile 
and his eyes fixed on space. The two men looked 
at one another with a strange hesitation ; then 
they bowed and went together out through the 
archway and disappeared. 

The hum of talk died down and there was a 
breathless silence. It was then that Miss 
Penberthy first became aware of an intermittent 
low noise that seemed to come from outside the 
apartment in~which she stood. She noticed also 
a great restlessness on the part of an armoured 
man who stood with his back to the window ; 
he seemed unable to remain with his eyes 
rigidly to the front, but ever and again, as the 
noise of muttering grew louder, would turn his 
head uneasily and glance down out of the window 
with an expression on his face that was like fear. 
Still the great mandarin sat relaxed and silent 
on his carven throne, his hands showing like wax 
against the dark green jade. 

There came the jangling sound of armour, and 
the two men who had left the room at the bidding 
of their lord returned, walking side by side. 
They were followed by an elderly man who walked 
slowly and uncertainly. Miss Penberthy saw 
that his ankles were joined by a fine steel chain 
about a foot in length. There was a metal band 
also on each of his wrists, and these were joined 
by a long chain, which swung as he walked, almost 
to the hem of his long blue robe. He was thin 
and bent, and though his face was but lightly 
lined his long mustachios were grey. His bald 
head was uncovered and gleamed like polished 
sandalwood. An awkward and ungainly figure 
he was, but not without a certain dignity ; for 
the expression of his face was calm and 
benignant, and he kept his black eyes fixed 
proudly before him as though disdaining to show 
any interest in his surroundings. 

Shuffling and stumbling, he walked a few paces 
behind his glittering guard until they reached 
the foot of the throne, where two soldiers bowed 
their heads before their master and took their 
places in the ranks once more. 

The blue-robed prisoner halted in front of the 
throne. The mandarin who sat there slowly 
turned his head until his small eyes rested on 
the shrunken figure before him. The old man 
seemed to stiffen under that stony gaze and 
raised his chin. Then the mandarin slowly 
parted his lips and Miss Penberthy shrank 
as she heard again that horrible whistling 
breath : — * 

41 So Amun-Ling crosses for the first time the 
threshold of Hang-Aku ! I bid thee welcome, 
Amun-Ling ! " 

The prisoner answered not a word, and the 
gentle voice went on : — 

" Dost thou not admire my splendid halls, 
O Amun-Ling ? " 

Amun-Ling answered evenly, and his deep 
voice was a strange contrast to that eerie 
whispering : — 

" The floors of thy house, O Hang-Aku, are 
made with dead men's bones ; are not thy 
tapestries, O tyrant, worked with the hairs of 
dead men and dyed in the spilt blood of the 
people ? O usurper and thief, do not the walls 
of thy palace echo with death-cries and curses ? 
How then should I admire thy splendid hails, 
O Hang-Aku ? " 

" Yet, having entered, shalt thou never leave 
them, Amun-Ling. Thou hast looked thy last 
on the faces of the mob, and hast' spoken thy 
last rebel words in the public squares. Had it 
not been for thee my conquered people would 
have been long ago subdued and content. For 
a long while thou hast been a thorn in my flesh ; 
but it will be so no longer . . . Thine end 
is at hand, O Amun-Ling." 

There was a very short silence, broken by the 
deep voice of the prisoner : — 

" And thine, O Hang-Aku ! " 

He went on : — 

IC The people love me, Hang-Aku ; thee they 
curse. Think well then before thou causest me 
harm lest in my doom thou doomest thine own 
life. Thy people are to be feared, O tyrant ! 
hunger and misery have made them strong as 

" Nay," smiled the mandarin, " the people 
fear me. Have I not conquered them ? When 
the mountain vultures have made a scanty meal 
of thy dead body, then will my people remember 
my power and tremble." 

" Thou art a fool, O Hang-Aku ! " responded 
the other evenly. " Sitting here in thy great 
palace in the midst of thine evilly-gotten wealth, 
what dost thou know of the people thou hast 
conquered ? Thou plannest how to starve and 
torture them, and how to steal the little that 
remains to them, but how mayest thou estimate 
their power or the fury of their hatred ? . . . 
Yea," he went on with a rising voice and glancing 
around him at the hushed rows of men on either 
side, " yea, thine own servants know better the 
temper of the people than thou dost. . . . Fool ! 
even at this moment the multitude shout around 
thy palace-gates and the soldiers of thy body- 
guard tremble t6 hear it. Listen !" he cried, 
suddenly turning towards the window with raised 





In the hush that followed, the noise that Miss 
Penbcrthy had heard before was plainly audible ; 
a muttering, rumbling noise that rose and sank, 
with now and then a distinct sound of far-away 
shouting. All eyes followed the direction of 
A mun- Ling's uplifted hands and looked towards 
the great window. 

There carnc the sibilant whisper of Hang- 
Aku's unearthly voice, " What is there to be 
seen ? " 

" There is a great multitude, sire, about the 
palace -gates." 

" Canst thou hear what words they shout ? " 

ri Sire, they call repeatedly the name of Amun- 
Ling," answered the soldier, and his voice was 

" Are they armed ? '* 

" A few only, sire , - , but they are in 
great plumbers . . , a great multitude, 

sire " His voice died away ; fear was written 

very plainly on his face. 

Hang-Aku made an impatient movement with 
his hand as if in dismissal of a trivial annoy- 
ance ; he turned to Amun-Ling, who still stood 
with his thin arms uplifted like a statue of 

M It had been well for thee, O Amun-Ling, 
if thou hadst admitted my strength and joined 
my councils long ago. Thou hast the confidence 
of these my conquered people and they would 
have followed thee into contented submission. 
I would have given thee power and wealth, far 
more than was thy portion under the rule of 
that lean fool, my cousin . , , Thou didst 
choose unwisely, Amun-Ling, and the price of 

thine unwisdom is thy death, 1 ' He made a 
motion towards those of his guard who stood 
nearest him. " Let my commands be carried 

One of the soldiers stepped out from the ranks 
and hesitated. He made no movement to lay 
hands on the prisoner, but stood as if in doubt, 
casting glances at his companions, who whispered 
agitatedly among themselves, 

There was a pause ; then Hang-Aku said, 
gently ; — 

" 1 have commanded/' 

Still there was no movement on the part of 
his followers. The great mandarin turned upon 

M Have I not commanded you, dogs ? " nis 
terrible lisping voice broke forth. '* Why do ye 
hesitate ? 

11 Sire," said one of them, apprehensively, i4 the 
multitude . . . have burst the outer gates 
. . „ Sirej they call the name of Amun-Ling.' 1 

At that Hang-Aku rose to his feet with a face 
contorted with anger. 

" Fools and cowards, I have commanded you t 
Am I not your master ? What if a hundred 
Jean rebels have entered the flimsy outer gate ? 
Are there not guards around my pal ace- walls ? 
Let my commands be carried out ! " 

L T nder those compelling eyes a second armed 
man stepped out and joined the first. "With a 
forced and jerky resolution they marched a few 
paces to where Amun-Ling stood motionless and 
laid theuv. hands, ppon his arms, Hang-Aku 
seated hiik^lSttMeTiSofB, a deep frown still upon 


outside \he building grew louder, and Miss 
Penberthy could easily distinguish hoarse cries 
of " Amun-Ling ! " 

Amun-Ling shook off with a sudden movement 
the grasp of his captors. Raising his hand with 
a vehement gesture, he cried in a terrible voice : — 

" I curse, thee, Hang-Aku ! Thou sendest 
me to my death, but thy death also is at hand ! 
Thou dost not know thy danger, Hang-Aku, 
and I rejoice that it is so. Thou hast heard cries 
for mercy, and hast smiled ; thou hast heard 
screams of agony, and hast laughed ; thou hast 
listened to the groans of the dying and found 
them sweet and grateful to thine ear. Now thou 
nearest the roar for vengeance of a maddened 
people and thou payest no heed. Murderer, 
usurper, tyrant, thou hast been called, and hast 
glorified to hear thyself so named. But / name 
thee fool ! fool ! and again, thou fool ! " 

Hang-Aku regarded his captive with a slight 
cynical smile ; then he made a gesture of dis- 
missal. The two soldiers tightened their hold 
upon the arms of the prisoner and led him out. 
Under the necessity, of keeping up with the 
long stride of his captors Amun-Ling stumbled 
pitifully, and once almost fell, catching his foot 
in the long chain that swung from his thin 

The mandarin leant back in his chair with 
half-closed eyes,>a feint smile still on his lips. 
He was the only tranquil figure in that great 
hall. His soldiers were now openly muttering ; 
their faces were full of apprehension. A group 
of them had gathered around the window 
through which cries and shouts became every 
second more plainly audible. After a moment's 
discussion one of them approached the throne. 

" Sire," he said in a thin voice, " we fear 
. . . dost thou not hear how the rebels ..." 

Without opening his eyes Hang-Aku re- 
sponded : — 

" Fellow, I do not hear the rebels. I listen 
for another sound." 

And Miss Penberthy, her heart leaping in her 
breast, knew that she also was listening in sick 
horror for another sound. 

It came : a thin wailing noise that sounded so 
close it might have issued from the adjacent hall. 
Higher and higher it rose till it was scarcely 
more than a thin whistle of sound. Then it ceased 
suddenly and there was silence for a moment. 
Hang-Aku turned his head slowly towards the 
archway, his mouth still set in that faint smile. 
Miss Penberthy found that she was trembling 
all over ; she felt sick and her knees were shaking. 

" I am dreaming," she told herself with a 
horrible sense of reality ; " I am dreaming . . ." 

There was a thick sound of choking, and then 
a faint monotonous voice uttering unintelligible 
words at a furious rate. The soldiers all stood 
stiff and silent now. The muttering voice grew 
louder, and suddenly broke into a shrill intense 
scream* Miss Penberthy put her hands to her 

Still the terrible screaming continued on a 
high sustained note ; it was more like the thin 
metallic sound of a siren than tho cry of any 
live creature. 

" Oh, God 1 " moaned Miss Penberthy with 
the blood throbbing in her temples; " oh God 1 
this^is a dream, a dream ! " 

The long inhuman cry ended abruptly on the 
note upon which it ha<^ begun. There was no 
further sound. Miss Penberthy put cold hands 
to her forehead aiid found it covered with sweat. 
The mandarin's evil yellow face was still turned 
towards the archway as if in expectation ; still 
it wore that faint curious smile. Hoarse shouting 
was very plainly audible now from beneath the 
great window : many voices were raised. 

There was a cry from one of the men who stood 
by the window, and he turned a white face to his 

" They have gunpowder ! " he said, hoarsely ; 
" we shall all die -like rats unless they be 
appeased ! " 

The others crowded about the window ; all 
pretence of order or discipline was abandoned. 
Hang-Aku seemed not to notice ; still he watched 
the archway from under half-closed lids. 

And there came again the jingle of armour, 
and through that archway two soldiers returned 
walking with quick strides. No captive followed 
them. But blood streamed upon the black 
marble floor from a ghastly object that one of 
them carried in his hand. It was a dead man's 
head, roughly severed and terrible to see. He 
carried it before him, upside down, balanced in 
the palm of his huge hand, his hairy fingers 
spread over the smooth bald crown. The dead 
eyes were wide open. ' 

Up to the foot of the throne they marched 
together and there halted, holding the ghastly 
dripping head towards the mandarin. His eyes 
gleamed, and he motioned to them to lay the 
thing down. 

" Sire ! " cried one of them, flinging himself 
upon the steps of the throne, " we are in danger I 
The multitude is strong 1 They must be 
appeased, or we are doomed ! doomed 1 " 

Hang-Aku raised his eyes from the contempla- 
tion of the bleeding head and glanced casually 
at the prostrate figure before him. 

" What does the mob desire of me, fel- 
low ? " 

" Sire, they ask that Amun-Ling be given back 
to them. Continually they call the name of 
Amun-Ling." The man glanced with a shudder 
at the pools of blood upon the dark steps. And 
indeed as he spoke a great cry arose : — 

" Amun-Ling ! give us Amun-Ling ! Death to 
Hang-Aku ! " 

A smile flitted over the evil features of the 
mandarin and he regarded tranquilly the horrible 
object at his feet. Then he rose and descended 
slowly the four steps of his throne. With 
great deliberation he picked up the bleeding 
head and stood looking down at it as it lay in 
his hands. 

" Amun-Ling ! " shouted the crowd below ; 
" give us Amun-Ling I " Hang-Aku strode 
towards the window. His terrified men-at-arms 
fell back from it as he approached. He stopped 
about two feet away and, lifting the blood- 
stained head, deliberately flung it through the 
open window among the people below. 





usurper, tyrant, 



FOOL ! f| 


An absolute science fell. The mandarin ap- 
preached close to the window and stood there, 
looking out. 

Then there arose a perfect howl of execration \ 
screams of women mingled with hearse cries of 
men. It was like the rearing of wild beasts in 
the jungle. 

When Hang-Aku turned from the window he 
seemed to have lost his serenity. His face was 
grey and his big lips twitched. 

" It is a great mob ! " he muttered. " Perhaps 
St were letter that all my men should be called 
out. Barricades must be put up. JJ 

He strode towards the archway. One of the 
men at the window r exclaimed : — 

" See, see I they are placing barrels of gun- 
powder along the wails ! We ate doomed ! 
doomed I " 

A perfect pandemonium arose All the 
soldiere shouted together with frantic gestures. 
Some leaned from the window and tried to get 
speech with the men below. 

" Oh, God I " cried Miss Penberthy, appealing 
to a Deity she had never recognized ; " oh p God, 
let this dream end ! J> 

The great mandarin paused and strode back 
to the window, his face working. It was evident 
that even he knew fear now, But when he 
appeared at the window such howls and screams 
arose frt m the mob that he drew back again. 

M Hang-Aku ! " shouted the people below. 
"Give us Hang-Aku! Hang-Aku the thief I 
Hang-Aku the murderer l " 

Hang-Aku pushed his way through the crowd 
and hastened tc> thv d.cor. One of his men hung 
from t^.^^^^^^ leader of the 



crow! below. He turned with blazing eyes and 
cried out something to those standing behind him, 

w Hang-Aku I ** shouted the multitude, 

" This is a dream < M said Miss Penberthy to 
herself, as before her fascinated eyes the frantic 
men-at-arms seized their lord by the shoulders ; 
their faces were set and white. 

The mandarin turned upon them, and then 
witli a sudden realization of their purpose broke 
from them and tried to flee through the arch- 
way ; Ms way was barred by three others- One 
of them caught him by the sleeve, but he flung 
off the grasping hand and ran wildly about the 
hall, cowering at last behind the great carved 

His men crowded around and dragged him out. 
Miss Penberthy could not see him for the mass 
of pushing, shouting men who surrounded him, 
but she could hear his uncanny, lisping voice 
raided in protest and pleading. 

44 This is a dream/' she muttered to herself 
hie one repeating a formula that has no meaning 
for bim ; " thia ie a dream ; this is a dream/ 1 

With fascinated eyes she watched them drag 
the huge mandarin across the slippery floor 
towards the window;. She saw, them crowd 
around it and raise that massive body on their 
shoulders, heard the horrible voice raised in a. 
lisping scream , t . Hang-Aku's long taper 
nails grasped and clawed at the heads of his men 
as they flung him through the window, A roar 
arose from the mob below. - * 

" Oh 1 " screamed Miss Penberthy, "I am 
dreaming, dreaming, dreaming J " Her voice 
seemed to rise to a thin wail and a blackness fell 
upon her eyes. 

When she opened them again the light was 
dim. She found herself staring stupidly at 
three rows of shining white discs, which her 
awakening senses gradually recognized as plates 
set out upon a painte3*kitchen dresser. 

Her head ached terribly and her limbs seemed 
stiff as she rose slowly to her feet* As she stood 
up she felt a gust of cold wind upon her neck. 
She turned, The window was closed, but the 
night air streamed an frem a jagged hole in one 
of the top panes ; there was glass upon the floor 
and table. 

Between the table and dresser squatted the 
headless figure of the china mandarin. There 
before Miss Pen berth y's aching eyes was the 
great yellow -robed body with its placidly* 
clasped hands ; but the once malignant head lay 
shattered to mere pieces of coloured china upon 
the floor. Near the dresser lay a small dark 
object. Miss Penberthy picked it up. It was a 
small heavy piece of dark metal of -a rough 
oblong shape.. 

There was absolute silence but for the ticking 
of the clock on the mantelpiece ; it was a 
quarter to nine. 

A ta?d whirred up the road, and from far away 
Miss Penberthy ht-ard the trtmulous note of a- 



THE accompanying three photographs ill us I rale 
a curious method of fishing practised in India 
and known as ll palla fishing," The first picture 
shows a native with his net on his shoulder and a chatty 
on his head, while in the second he is launching the 
chatty preparatory to starting on hi* trip. As will be 

seen from the third photograph, the fisherman lies on 
the chatty on his stomach, and paddles and steers with 
his legs. When he sets well out in the stream he pushes 
his net down m front of him with both hands, and, 
when any fish are caught, slips them into the 



Tke German Mind 
in Medals. 


HE most interesting and sig- 
nificant medals issued during 
the war are German. 

Here, indeed, we find striking 
sidelights upon the German 
character and the German atti- 
tude toward other nations. Wc 
see clearly the Teuton's hatred 
of England, his contempt for America, his serene 
belief in his own superiority to all other peoples, 
and his unquestioning reliance upon the strength 
and efficiency of Ms own right arm.^ We can 
get, as it were, a digest of the German view- 
point on the progress and results of the war 
by glancing briefly at a series of these medals, 
taken in chronological order— not of manufac- 
ture, but of the war incident or situation that 
they commemorate. It is worth noting that 
most of them are made of iron, that the designs 
are graphic but not at all artistic, and that the, 
workmanship is rough, 

The assassination of the Archduke Francis 
Ferdinand of Austria is the subject of a medal 
which takes chronological precedence as ascrib- 
ing the cause of the war. The face of this meda- 
shows the Serbian assassin, roughly garbed 

I. showing Russia's alleged instigation oi" 


with bomb in hand hidden behind him. Beside 
him is a road-sign, '* Serajevo, June 28, igi-j M 
—the place and date of the tragedy. " The 
spark of the world's conflagration " sets forth 
the significance of the murder in the Teutonic 
plea for the verdict of history, (i.) 

Russia comes in for abuse and accusation 
on the other side of the medal. The Czar's 
envoy to the Serbian Court is boldly presented 
as the instigator of the crime— a charge for which, 
so far as we are aware, there is no evidence. 
He is represented as a big, bearded man in 
frock-coat handing a bag of money to an uncouth 
matij pistol in hand, with two companions, 

" Russian Ambassador von Hart wig receives 
the Serbian murderer," is the accompanying 

Next in historic sequence is a medal com- 
memorating the beginning of war. On one 
side is a bust portrait of the Kaiser, helmeted, 
and the phrase to which he gave utterc-ncc. 
repeated in the news of the day ; ** I do not 
know parties now ; I know only Germans. N * 
A bust of the Emperor Francis Joseph adorns 
the other side, with the inscription : ' H Truly 

Germany, ever heedful of her man -power, 
encouraged marriages of soldiers called to the 
Front. There must be a new generation to 
fight for the Hohen/olicrus, no matter what 
happened to this one. The war-bride medal 


marks this early epoch. A woman's hand 
clasped in that of a soldier, a naked sword 
with cross -hi It between, and the word ** war- 
bride/* encircling the edge p is on the obverse. 
The reverse shows a shield, crested with spiked 
helmet. " With God for Kaiser and empire, ** 
says the inscription, (2,) 

Another medal of similar significance is one 
struck in honour of the " war-child.** Here 
an inverted spiked helmet is the cradle of a 
naked babe. " Born during the world war," 
reads the German text. 

A Medal of Invective. 

Belgium had been violated by German arn 
and French forces had met the invaders. Tr 
Germans charged the French with using dum 
dum bullets, Mr. Gerard, the American Ambas 
sador at Berlin, deals with this accusation 
and describes bullets exhibited in proof. Hi 
believes that they had been punctured for rang* 
use. so that, if tm !ar:;ti were missed, the bullets 

^^Hfl^'TK5rtT , 5P , fiflWI(3ftff agc far be - vond - 



But the German medal makes the charge posi- 
tively and threatens reprisal. 

The medallist sets up a number of cartridges 
and labels them " dum-dum." He makes the 
symbolic French cock strut off in apparent 


glee, and sarcastically adds the inscription : 
- * All respect to the grande nation t" He 
becomes melodramatic when he engraves the 
other side. Here is a field of dead, with a 
feminine figure wearing the liberty cap, personi- 
fication of France, sowing dum-dum .bullets. 
" Thou so west vengeance in due time/* is the 
inscribed threat of a future day of frightful- 
ness. (3.) 

When the Teuton forces succeeded in forcing 
back the French on the Lorraine 1 rentier, they 
made a medal for that exploit. " Rupprecht, 
Crown Prince of Bavaria," in command, has 

The scene shifts to East Prussia, where the 
Russian invading army under SamsonoS met 
a severe defeat, August 28th to 31st, 19 14. 
The portrait, with name and rank, of Major- 
General von Bindenburg, distinguishes that 
fighting veteran, since become chief of staff, 
as the German leader who turned the tide. On 
the reverse of the medal are shown mounted 
Cossacks in flight, horses and men struggling, 
swimming, immersed in an expanse of water 
labelled : "In the Masurian Lakes/' The 
inscription triumphantly tells the story : ** The 
Russian Army of the Narcw destroyed," (5.) 


his portrait, name, and rank orj the obverse 
as the man of the hour. The Bavarian Hon 
fighting off a much -bedraggled French cock 
is on the other side, on which is inscribed t 
" Battle in Lorraine," and, on a shield : " Vic- 
tory at Dieuze, August 20, 10,14/* U) 

V**- / 



Some German Naval Med&lt. 

Next Vice- Admiral Count von Spee is 
fj given credit for victory in the naval 
^ battle of Santa Maria. November ist t 
1014 — known to the British as that of 
CoroneL On fbe face of the medal are 
his portrait, name, and rank. The other 
side shows cruisers with guns tiring and 
a British ship sinking. The title is, 
*! Sea-nght at Santa Maria," and the date 
is given. (©.) Th£re does not seem to be any medal 
commemorating the destruction of Spec's squad- 
ron by Admiral Sturdee, off the Falkland 
Islands, just live weeks later. 

Another new year has come and gone, but not 
less is the kindly Teuton s hatred of England* 
The portrait bust on one medal shows 
the long whiskers and benevolent face ot 
High Admiral von Tirpitz, the father of 
relentless submarine warfare, The reverse 
commandeers a classic divinity, Nep- 
tune, as Germany's ally against the 
British. The sea -god, his back turned, 
is seated on a U-boat, his left hand 
grasping his trident, his right fist 
clenched, to be shaken at a fleet oi 
vessels flying the British na% F al flag. 
The sweet and gentle prayer, M Gotl 
St r&fc litiglai id/' is i a in i 1 i ar - ' ' Febru a 1 y 



ine warfare 




which Germany thought would bring England to 
her knees was first declared* (7.) 

11 Tirpitz, high admiral/' is the name and 
title, with portrait, that ornaments the face of 
another medal struck in honour of U-boat fright - 
iulness. " The sinking of every vessel by Ger- 
many is a death -bo It in the heart of England," 
the legend boasts. The other side displays a 
sinking ship, deserted by enormous rats, with 
men in a small boat ; from the conning-towcr oE 
a submarine German sailors are throwing these 
castaways a line. " Watch -word — sink the snip 
but save the people " is the accompanying 
legend ; though when the Germans adopted any 


such policy of mercy is not recorded. Recent 
statistics show that as a matter of fact more 
than fifteen thousand civilians— men, women, 
and children — have been left to drown by the 
tender-hearted pirates of the U-boats, (8.) 

Germany's Compliment* to Japan. 

At this time Germany felt no love for Japan, 
which had taken over the Pacific colonies of the 
Fatherland an fast as their garrisons saw reason 
in the persuasion of forte. One medal shows 

Tommy Atkins boosting a 
monkey, Labelled " Japan/' up 
a tree, in the branches whereof 
reposes a magnificent specimen 
of the German eagle. 

The H yellow peril " is cliarac* 
terized in still another medal „ 
struck in anger lor the loss of 
Kiau-Chau, the colony that 
Germany wrested from the 
Chinese when that ancient 
people's multiplied troubles 
made them poor protectors of 
their own- While the dragon 
is typical of China, it seems 
to b* used here to typify 
Japan, or perhaps the entire 
yellow race. The face of the 
medal shows such a dragon with all Oriental 
characteristics coming up out of the sea to be 
attacked by an armed soldier of Germany. 
+ l Germany's watch "is the inscription. 

The grinning faces of two yellow men adorn 
the upper half of the reverse, These heads are 
between the words, ,+ To Japan," a dedication, 
Tlie rhyming legend reads : " Your true face 
docs not surprise us ; he who is hired, he who is 




bent upon booty, remains, instead of yellow, 
blue with boils in German Kiau-Chau." This as 
somewhat obscure, but may be interpreted as 
an invocation of the bubonic plague as the 
avenger of the German losses* (9.) 

Some ** Lutitaniit " Medvli. 

The merciless submarine warfare became of 
full effect. The ocean liner Lusifania, with 


appalling loss of innocent life, was sunk on 
May 7th, i'^3S'Wobabl> the most famous of 
aU'G|J|^R3^ by Karl 



Goetz and bearing the curiously anachronistic 
date, "May 5, 1915"— t wo day 3 before the 
shocking event actually happened* 

In this medal the giant ship is shown sinking, 
her stem only out of the water, " No contra- 
hand " is to be read above, evidently sarcasm 
directed at declarations that the ship was un- 
armed and carried no forbidden cargo* The 
inscription reads : r The ffreat liner Lmitania 
sunk by a German submarine , May 5, 191 5." 
On the reverse, Death is selling tickets at a 
window marked ,p Cunard Line " to a long 
line of eager passengers. " Business before 
everything " reads the legend, (ro.) 

Another Lusitania medal rejoices over the 
same lamentable event, but was manufactured 
later, in 1916, as the year opposite the name 
of the artist* Wilhelm H, Eberbach, testifies, 
Eberbach runs to skeletons in his designs, 
and he has not avoided the practice in this 

**i f 


was on 


rampaign in Russian Poland to (l Leopold of 
Bavaria, general field- marshal." This designa- 
tion and the portrait of Prince Leopold ornament 
the face, The lion of Bavaria, roariiig, as he 
mounts a stone platform, is on the reverse ; also 
a mermaid is shown on a miniature shield, with 
the date, " August 5, 1915/' about it, " To the 
conqueror of Warsaw '* is the dedication. (12.) 


Field-Marshal von Mackensen is exalted 
in another medal as the hero of the cam- 
paign in Galicia. His portrait, name, 
aud title are on the obverse, while on 
the other side are stalks of ripe wheat, a 
sickle, and a knout or Russian whip, 

11. A 

if ±4***5' 


instance. Death is astride the sinking ship, and 
the inscription reacts : " Surprised though warned 
against hazard aboard the Lusitania" Turning 
over the medal, we find a dedication in President 
Wilson, and read: "To the disregarder of 
warnings „ Woodrow Wilson, ijio '* 111.) 

Offensive as this is, it is less so than several 
other medals which make the President of the 
United States, Uncle Sam, or the American 
people the btitt of ribaldry. 

Germany 1 * Military Succesies. 

The German occupation of Warsaw is com- 
memorated in a medal that gives credit for the 






signifying that the grain is to 
be harvested in Galicia by 
Teutons, and that the Russ 
will no longer tyrannize over 
the inhabitants of that pro- 
vince. " End of Russian rule 
in Galicia " is inscribed- (1 3.) 
The German advance con* 
tiiuies, and Mackensen has 
taken the Russian city of 
Brest -Li tovsk — since then 
reverse, Ofiginat^ft^rt^ of Pt^c parleys. 

UNIVERSITY 0PfilCfflSSH FiRS het0 " 





shown, with his name, and that of the artist* 
Elie, in smaller type, on the face of the medal 
celebrating Jiis success* On the other side is a 
German infantryman, gun at ease, regarding 
burning houses, *' Brest -Litovsk, 1915," is the 
title. (14.) 

The Zeppelins had now begun the murderous 
work 01 air-raids on London. To 00 m me morale 
these attacks, fatal chiefly to women and 
children, a medal presents the portrait of Count 
Zeppelin on the obverse, with his name. On 
the other side is the Tower Bridge, with two big 
dirigibles hovering over it. Hie inscription 
records : 4i Air attacks on London/' with the 
dates, August 17th and 1 8th, 19 15, (15.) 

The face of hatred takes colour of blame in 
a medal the obverse of which displays the 
portraits of the three rulers t William of Germany, 
Mohammed of Turkey, and the late Francis 
Joseph of Austria* These eftigies take the upper 
half of the plaque, with the legend, above and 

between in Latin: "Soli Deo Gloria "—"The 
glory to God alone/ 1 The scene below is a field 
conference of officers of the three allied champions 
of kul&tr, 

A German, a Turk, and an Austrian infantry^ 
man take up the centre of the reverse, with the 
motto: ,f Brothers in arms/* Around the 
edge there mns p tn German text : " England 
would starve us ; Russia plunder and rob ; 
France would singe and burn us ; Italy would 
avenge dismembered Belgium/' (e6.) 

The Balkan situation in the ear her period 
of the war is pictured in a medal with three 
crowned heads, labelled " Ferdinand JJ (Bul- 
garia), " Constantine " (Greece), " Ferdinand " 
(Routnania), behind bars. Beneath is a mailed 


fist, coin, and dragon, with the appeal : M Help 
the Balkans/' The apparent meaning is that 
the Allies were coercing the Balkan princes 
by combined violence and bribery. On the 
reverse the same threp Royalties are making 
supplication, two on both knees and the other 
half- kneeling* " The pilgrimage in the Balkans " 
is the idiomatic inscription. (1 7 ) 

Samples of German Sarcasm. 

The Gallipoii expedition is made much of 
by the German medallists. In one medal two 









skeletons in the sea washing on a shore defended 
by entanglements are suggestive of what hap- 
pened to this ill -fated enterprise, as medallized. 
Star" and credent, in the sky, are between the 
years fi 1915 M and " 1916." A lanky Scot 
in kilts, on the reverse^ holds a boat in his 
anas; beside him a diminutive infantryman, on 
one knee, has his gun aimed. fi Moon -seeking 
at Gallipoli J ' reads the sarcastic legend, (18.) 

Lord Grey of Fall ode n — better known as Sir 
Edward Grey — is caricatured in a medal that 
hinges upon conditions in Egypt in 1915. when 
there was much talk of unrest in the land of the 
pyramids, and the Turks were threatening the 



:av. awakening 

Suez Canal. '* Sir Grey " is shown with fear- 
stricken face, and with a grinning skeleton, 
holding an hour-glass, hanging over his shoulder, 
<J Sir Grey, show your power," he is invoked, 
On the other side the Sphinx is rising from the 
desert sands ; we see cross and crescent in the 
sky, and an armed force on camels, "Egypt 
awakens/* says the inscription. (19.) 

German caricature does not spare King 
Nicholas of Montenegro in the hour of his 
greatest grief. His country had been over- 
whelmed ami himself forced to seek safety in 
flight. His portrait is labelled " Nikita," with 
a bird on the wing beneath, and the inscription : 


" First Right of the dove of peace/' A sword 
partly drawn from its sheath and, below, a flying 
raven are on the other side of the medal. 
The text reads : " The raven driven from his 
country/* (to.) 

The German medallist also pokes fun at the 
Italian Commander-in-Chief, General Cadorua, 
portraying him as seeking the shelter of an 
umbrella or sunshade. " Sisyphus,on the Isonzo, 
1915^-1016 " says the classical allusion on the 
reverse ; the legendary Sisyphus is represented 
as vainly struggling to force the rock uphill. 


typifying the Italian efforts to drive the Austrians 
from their mountain frontier. {21.) 

" Curse the British on the Sen 1 " 

On February 2nd, 19 16, occurred the incident 
when a crippled Zeppelin fell into the sea and a 
British trawler manned by nine unarmed men 
declined to take off the twenty- eight or thirty 
armed Germans on the shipwrecked aircraft, 
Tliis abandonment was criminal conduct, accord- 
ing to the German medallist. He pictures the 
big dirigible sinking ; the crew, gathered on the 
stern, signalling a small vessel in the distance. 
Above is the designation of the aircraft, L-iq, 

" Curse the British on the sea ; curse their 



bad conscience ! " is the kindly prayer inscribed 
on the reverse. Mere are presented the scaler 
of justice, and the annotation : ** Men wrecked 
at sea, asking rescue,, forced to perish/' and the 
date. («*) 

The same incident and the alleged mistreat- 
ment of men from a German submarine, the 
V-22 t are the subject of another miila.1, whuli 
bears the name of E her bach as its designer. 
Here Eberbaeh £ives us another skeleton, We 
see Death, with lus back turned, gazing over 





the depths at a sinking ship— whose crew, pre- 
sumably, is perishing without any British effort 
to rescue then]. The reverse bears the German 
Admiralty flag and a Latin hexameter ; " Exoriarc 
aiiquis nosttis ex os situs ulior " — 4 May some 
avenger arise from our bones I" (2 J.) 

It was to be expected that the Irishman, Sir 
Roger Casement, would be exalted as a martyr, 
# Thc medal commemorating his execution shows 
live head and nude torso of Casement with bis 
arms shackled, being throttled by a grotesque 
figure of a Scot, There is his name, and also 1 

the British motto of the Order of the 
Garter, " Honi soif qui mul y pense" and 
the dedication : Cl To the honourable Mr. 
Asquith." (25 ) 

Admiral Schecr appears on the obverse 
of a medal commemorating the naval 
fight in the North Sea, where both 
British and Germans claimed victory. 
The reverse shows a nude male figure 
waving the Hag of Prussia in tuie hand, 
while the other holds aloft a laurel- 
wreath. " Not by accident but by 
efficiency JP appears above ; and beneath, 
" Skaggeraclc, June i t igi6. M (26,} 



*' England's ambition." " English Taw of 1351 " 
is the title of a book enmeshed in cobwebs shown 
on the other side of the medal. Beside it arc 
iron stocks and a deaths-head with serpents, 
" Edward III/s dead hand places the garotte 
about Ireland/' reads the text, (24,) 

Mr. Asquith, as former British Premier, takes 
his turn as a target of attack. " British respect 
fur treaties " is represented by a British bulldog 
tearing a document with Ms teeth ; though just 
what treaty the Asquith Government violated 
is not specified. The reverse of the medal carries 


Portraits of the four monarchs of the Teutonic 
alliance— Ferdinand of Bulgaria, William of 
Germany, the late Francis Joseph of Austria, 
and Mohammed of Turkey— decorate the face 
of a medal dedicated to their pact " With 
, united powers " is the motto. On the other side 
of the medal are shown four infantrymen, one 
of each nation, armed, in postures of offence, 
and the years, A± 3914-1916/' (27.) 





The Dream of World Conquest. 
" Deitlschland tiber Jltes " is the sentiment of a 
medal of more classic design. On the obverse is a 
naked gladiator with a bull by the horns, 
overthrowing it. The reverse shows Atlas 
bearing the world. The verses of the 
German poet, Ernst Moritz Amdt, arc 
inscribed, beginning on the obverse and 
ending on the reverse : " He who desires 
staunchly, and his desires do not change, 
will pry tho firmament out of its fastness 
in the sky ; ail spirits must bow to him, 
and will call : l Come and take me ; you 
only take your own,' '* 

What use is it to talk conciliation with 
a people who hold such ideas, and w*lio 
Q(ietk§altfoatTi with such nonsensical 

TKE +jTW'EftsrfW Michigan 

Monsieur Felicite 



Illustrated by C. E. Brock, R.I. 

ILLETON, that ancient town in 
the South of France, has three 
things about which it may boast 
, — its Cathedral, its pastry, and 
M. Felicit6 — and of these three 
the greatest is M. Felicite. The 
Cathedral is built up of dreams, 
the pastry of sugar, but M. Feiicit6 of solid 
reality. He has been dead now a dozen years, 
but the memory of him keeps the town 
together, gives it a quality that holds it apart 
from other French towns, mellows its harshness, 
sweetens its acidity, fills its air with a delicate 

The painting of him in the salle of the 
Soleil Rouge conveys an idea of him as he 
was when he walked every morning as punctually 
as any clock up the steep Rue des Ecoliers, at a 
quarter to ten, to buy his morning paper and to 
listen to the news from M. the Barber. 

In the picture he wears a faded brown tail- 
coat, brown baggy velveteen trousers, and a 
brown bow over his white frilled shirt. The 
face is lighted with big brown twinkling eyes 
and his white hair is curly and cut close to the 
head. This is the only picture of him in Villeton, 
but there is no need of a picture to keep him 
fresh in the people s hearts — he is there for all 

He is, perhaps, the only human being about 
whom no one ever said a grudging word. Even 
Sir Galahad must have been thought a prig by 
some humanists and many of the Saints' must 
have been tiresome company, but Bonaparte 
Felicite was brave, witty, honest, pure and 
simple as a child, affectionate, humble, beloved 
even by M. Raguilleau, the notary, the bitterest 
man in Villeton. 

There are so many stories to tell about him 
that it is aifHcuit, indeed, to make a choice ; 
but the one about the Comtesse de Brie and 
Mile. Miriel shows several sides of his character 
at once, and I know that it is true because 
I was in Villeton myself at the time and 
heard the greater part of it from M. Andr6's 
lips, and M. Andr6 was M. Felicity's best 

Copyright, 1918, 

friend. I myself regard it as the bravest 
thing that M. Felicite ever did, and would face 
any number of lions or tigers or serpents (I have 
an especial horror of serpents) rather than the 
Comtesse de Brie in ^ tantrum, but then I am 
easily hurt by sharp words and prefer torture 
to irony. The old lady has been dead now k 
number of years, but she is remembered well 
enough as she used to drive every sunny after- 
noon through the Place in an old green cabriolet 
with Jerome, her coachman, fat and pompous 
on the box, and plumes in her bonnet of a light 
red colour and her sharp yellow nose sticking out 
in front of her, sharp as a kni'e. 

She was not popular in Villeton, but she was 
respected, for she had suffered great tragedies in 
her day and suffered them nobly, and now she 
was quite alone in a great barrack of a house, 
alone, that is, except for her niece Miriel. How 
gloomy it must have been for that poor girl 
anyone could see with half a glance. 

And yet, with it all, Miriel seemed to be 
always' in the happiest spirits. She was slight of 
figure, with a round laughing face, and was 
redeemed from a plain appearance by brown eyes 
that were always dancing, a mouth that was 
always smiling, and a laugh that would win the 
fidelity of an ogre. 

Her tenderness and sympathy were as beautiful 
as her happiness, and there were few people in 
Villeton who had not experienced her goodness 
at one time or another. Of course, the young 
men of the town were in love with her, and equally 
of course she was guarded from them with a 
vigilance and severity that never, save on one 
occasion only, was relaxed. There were Jerome 
Constin, Maurice Reval, Jacques Poisson, Jean 
Grenoble, and a host of others, and there was — 
some while after the others — Jean Marteau. 
Jean Marteau was our poet — our poet then — 
Paris s poet afterwards — the world's poet now — 
and who is there in Europe who has not read 
" Les Souliers " and " L'Apres-Midi d'une 
Cabriolet " ? Let me see him and I will tell 
him what I think of him. Marteau was beautiful 
to look upon, ivith golden hair, blue eyes, and 
the expression of the anrrel Gabriel — always as 

by Hugh Walpitttr 



though, in the expression of his eyes, he had 
.been born yesterday and hadn't the beginning 
of* an idea oi the' wickedness of this evil world. 
He came of a good honest stock — his father had 
been wealthy pne'e and then lost his money owing 
to foolish speculations and died of the shock 
of it — and now Mme. Marteau lived with her 
beautiful Jean in a little green-shuttered house 
just outside the town, and he wrote poems to 
the snowdrops that clustered in the wood behind 
• their little garden and to the brown shaggy hills 
that rose in front of their gate. 

I cannot discover when was the first occasion 
that Jean Marteau and Miriel met, but it must 
have been a very distant and contracted kind of 
meeting, for the old Comtesse watched her niece 
like a dragon, and always sent wizened yellow 
Mme. Perrault as a bodyguard . if she herself 
were forced to stay at home. The old woman 
hated all the townspeople of Villeton save 
only M. F61icit6, but for him she had rather a 
weakness, and she would invite him up to drink 
coffee with her in the little dark music-room at 
the ch&teau, and he has often described to me 
how dreary those evenings were when she sat in 
her high-backed chair, looking like a witch with 
her white hair and leaning on her ebony walking 
stick with a red and green parrot swinging on 
its perch behind her head. Miriel was at first 
forbidden to be present on those occasions, 
for even M. F61icit£ fc turned fifty and long 
resigned to the happy state of a bachelor, 
was considered dangerous. Dangerous, at least, 
for a time— and then I suppose M. F61icit6 s 
mellow kindness, his fatherly attitude to the 
world in general, his sense of the fitness of things, 
and his smiling compliments to the Comtesse 
herself, reassured the old lady ; Miriel was at 
last allowed to come in and pour out his coffee 
and listen demurely to his pleasant conversation. 
She came again and again and again. He came 
to the ch&teau more often than, before. The 
Comtesse thought it was because he valued her 
acquaintance and liked to be seen walking 
through the old black gates and to be spoken 
about, in the town, as a friend of High Company 
— but dear F61icit6 was far too simply natural 
a soul for that. He came because he loved Miriel 
as a father loves an only daughter, and she, in 
return, loved him. This affection between the two 
of them sprang up very swiftly. F61icit£ always 
felt as though the life of that bright creature in 
that dark old house was too harsh to . be borne, 
and I think that he had from the very beginning 
some kind of hope that he would effect her 

It was, however, after Miriel had returned from 
a month s visit to an aunt in Toulouse that a new 
note crept into their friendship. M. F61icite 
himself was at a loss to explain this change that 
he noticed in his young friend. Miriel seemed t6 
be shy of him and at the same time to be anxious 
to take him into her confidence. As, however, 
he never saw her alone (there was always present 
Madame la Comtesse and her parrot or old spit- 
fire dry-as-a-biscuit Mme. Perrault), he could 
never discover her trouble. It worried him, it 
perplexed him. 

Once she was about to speak to him. They 
were alone for a moment ; her eyes flamed:, Her 
cheek flushed, her hands' were raised imploringly 
towards him. Then on the marble floor outside 
them was the tap-tap of the ebony cane, and. the 
moment was lost. 

One late stormy afternoon M. F61icit6 
was sitting over his fire reading that fine play 
by M. Victor Hugo, " Les Burgraves." It was an 
afternoon of the utlnost fury ; the rain lashed the 
window-panes until they screamed in protest, the 
square below the window was jumping and 
leaping 'with the little hissing puddles, and even 
the great front of the Cathedral itself seemed to 
shrink away from such a raging tempest. No 
one was about in the world. M. F61icit6's fire 
burnt a golden red, his lacquer cabinet gleamed 
ip the light, and the sonorous eloquence of " Les 
Burgraves " thrilled the dear man's gentle 

Suddenly there was a frantic knocking on the 
door. Down the dark stairs he went, a candle 
in his hand, unlatched the heayy door, rolled it 
back, and beheld a jterrible sight. 

There, in the rain and storm, was a battered 
and sodden Mme. Perrault and there, leaning 
against the wall, with a white face and soaking 
clothes, was a shaking figure of a girl, Miriel. 
Into the house he dragged her without asking a 
question, hurried Mme. Bette, his housekeeper, 
for warm things, ordered coffee and every kind 
of eatable-that the house contained, and listened, 
between his labours, to Mme. Perrault 's hysterical 
explanations. It had been fine early in the 
afternoon, so fine that they had dismissed the 
carriage. They had been walking down the 
Rue des Ecoliers, the rain had caught them, 
they had sought shelter in a doorway, it had 
seemed to clear, they had ventured out again, 
and it had been worse than ever. Buffeted, 
soaked, hysterical, they had found M. F&icit&'s 
door 1 What joy ! What mercy ! ' But now at 
once they must have a carriage 1 .Now, imme- 
diately 1 Many people would have lartighed at 
the absurd picture that Mme. Perrault presented 
with her thin cheeks flushed, her skirts muddy 
and bedraggled, rain-drops dripping from her 
nose ; but M. F£licit6 was of too courteous a 
„ tradition. 

" First," he said, " you 
some hot coffee." Mile, 
led away some minutes before by Mme. Bette. 
Mme. Perrault shrilly insisted on immediate 
departure, then shivered, sneezed, and finally 
looked round upon the glowing comforts of the 
room with a longing eye. 

" You must change, Madame, and wait whi ft 
your things dry by the fire. Mme. Bette ' 

Miriel, a glowing figure, with the housekeepe 's 
ample garments gathered closely about h< r, 
interrupted him. Mme. Perrault flung o le 
glance at the little pool of water that h< d 
dripped from her skirts on to M. F61icit«.'s 
beautiful brown carpet, and then, in her tui i, 
retired. ^ . 

M. Feiicit-; with hands outstretched ca: le 
forward and Miriel flung her anns about his ne k 
and kissed him — then, still with her head on 1 is 

must change — and 
Miriel had been 






shoulders and lie stroking her hair, she began . 
hurriedly:— ' 

\ "Quick! Quick! There is not V moment. 
The old thing will be back in an instant. It is 
the first time that I have had an opportunity all 
these weeks. See! Seel You- must help me, 
you and only you in all the wide world ! " 

M. F61icit6 was bewildered : " But I, child r 
what can I do ? " 

"I am married to Jean Marteau. Yes, do not 
scream ! It is so, and I glory in it ! But there 
is not a moment — it happened in Toulouse. 
He, too, was there. We have loved one another 
for two years— — " 

" Dieu I " cried M. Felicite\ " Pauvre / " 

But she hurried on : u Yes, well — see. He is 
at Bois de l'Eau now r — waiting— and my aunt 
watches me like a cat and I must get to him— - — " 

-« But M 

" No — wait an instant. Only you can help 
me. You must ask me to tea — on the day that 
I come to Mme. Patisserie for the piano — every 
Thursday. I will manage it — to come alone, I 
mean — and you must have a carriage and you 
must drive me to Bois de l'Eau — and afterwards 
you must return and inform my aunt " 

" But " said poor M. F61icit6 again. 

" Yes, it must be so. Only with you shall I 
be allowed to come to tea. I cannot run away— 
at once I should be seen and brought back. And 
only you cat tell my aunt, only you in the wide 
world. Only you have the courage sufficient, 
and she cares for you " 

" But " said M. Fflicitl yet again. 

" Hark ! I hear the cat coming. Ah ! But 
you must. You love me — I know it. This is 
my life — I shall kill myself if I^annot get to him, 
and you would not have that. Next Thursday — 
four o'clock." 

Mme. Perrault was upon them, looking truly 
wonderful in an enormous green dress of Mme. 
Bette's, from which her scraggy head stuck out 
like a chicken out of a hedge. 

When the sun shone again and the ladies 
departed for the chateau they left as may be 
imagined a strangely bewildered gentleman 
behind them. No good now " Les Burgraves " 
of M. Victor Hugo — of no value that faint blue 
evening sky, glowing so gently above the glitter- 
ing cobbles of the market-place. M. F61icit6 had 
enough to trouble his mind for a long time to 

He saw her as she had stood with her arms 
about his neck, her cheeks flushing, her eyes 
shining and dancing, the great yellow skirt 
looped up about her. He felt still the warm 
touch of her fingers on his neck, he heard her 
voice pleading 

The tears filled his eyes, and he sat in front of 
his fire for many hours and would not touch the 
beautiful supper that Mme. Bette had prepared 
for him. 

She was married — there was the crux of the 
matter. [Nothing to be done now but to make 
the best of it. He was a courageous and bold- 
spirited man, but even he shuddered at the 
thought of the anger of the old woman with the 
ebony cane. But what was he to do ? What 

was he to do ? Throughout the night' the^ 
Cathedral clock struck the quarters ; M. F6licft6, 
tossing on his bed, heard them all and could 
come to no decision. To tell the Comtesse at 
once would help matters not at all — the mere 
idea of Miriel in her power, a ready victim for , 
her rage, was terrible. Moreover, that would 
be betraying his trust. To go to Jean Marteau 
would be of no service — too late now to plead — 
the evil was done. Moreover, was it so great an 
evil ? Young Marteau was a fine fellow and 
would one day make a great name — moreover, 
he was a good fellow — decent, honourable, a man 
— and was not this alone an escape for his 
Miriel ? Was it not better for her to be wedded 
to handsome young Marteau out there, in the 
woods, at Bois de l'Eau, rather than to drag on 
an unhappy existence in that dark, musty 
chateau ? 

Surely better — surely better. And somewhere 
in the man's heart the love that he had for all 
the world stirred and saluted the coming of the 
grey trembling dawn. 


He was resolved. It should be his adventure. 
He had not come to this decision, it may readily 
be believed, without a thousand misgivings, but 
whatever, way he might turn there seemed to be 
no other outlet for them all.- He tried to fling * 
his mind forward to the day when the Comtesse 
should be mollified and the young couple happily 
at peace with the world, but that day seemed 
distant indeed — always his mind hesitated at 
the picture of the old lady storming, as few old 
ladies had ever stormed in all the world's 
history. It would indeed be a mauvais quart 

Thursday arrived and with it, at about a 
quarter-past four, just such another fierce and 
sudden storm as the one that had taken the 
ladies by surprise the week before. It was 
fortunate that it had not begun earlier in the 
afternoon, for then, most assuredly, Miriel would 
never have been allowed to go to her music- 
lesson, but by the time that the first rain-drops 
fell she was safe in Mme. Patisserie's house* 
Sharp, as the half-hour struck in the Cathedral, 
she came tripping across the street under a huge 
umbrella carried by Mme. Patisseries maid, 
Marie, and soon she was standing on the rose- 
buds in M. Felicity's carpet with her eyes shining, 
looking quite adorable in a peacock-blue dress 
and one of those Princess bonnets that girls 
looked so charming in somewhere about the 

" Now " she said, triumphantly facing her 

friend with the white curly hair and the brawn 

" Now " said M. F61icit6, trying to laugh 

back at her, but nevertheless embarrassed, he 
knew not why. 

It seemed to him suddenly that he was losing 
Miriel, within the next half-hour, for good and 
all — this dear, Ihappy child who had been so 
much in hiti iiile those lasii; yezucs — and he saw, 
perhaps, beyond the actual losing of her that it 




was the stem fate of old bachelors they must 
aiways lose everybody, and that, in the end, 
there won Id be no one to care whether they died 
or no, and, for a moment perhaps, the colour 
seemed to die out of the bowl of roses by the 
window, out of the lacquer cabinet, out of the 
blazing fire. 

Then he was his cheerful self again. When 
Mme. Bette, with her eyebrows raised a little as 
she always had when something was going on 
about which she had not been informed, an- 
nounced that the carnage was at the door, he 
caught Miriel to him and said, holding her off 
train him a little :— 
M You love him ? " 

* With all my heart and soul/' she answered, 
gazing straight back into his eyes, and then she 
added with a strange little catch in her voice : 
" And you too— oh, you dear, and you too ! ap 

The drive that followed will be readily imagined 
by alt those who have witnessed a storm in Ville- 
ton, who remember what the old VlUeton 
carriages were like some thirty years ago, who 
have invention enough to picture what the old 
road to Bois de 1'Eau might have been alter a 
Soocl of rain. The inside of the carriage was of a 
faded red plush, with holes where the moths had 
got at it. and a scent floated about their heads 
that had in it something of hay and chickens and 
garlic and tobacco. The conveyance was not 

very large and the coachman was nearly blind, 
quite deaf, and he had been chosen especially by 
BL Felidte because it seemed that there would 
be but little danger of his spreading the news on 
his return* The horses decided to behave as 
they pleased, and so away out of the town the 
carriage rattled through the rain and the mud and 
the fading light. No word could be spoken by 
those inside the conveyance. From seat to seat 
they were tossed, now forwards, now backwards ; 
now the carriage seemed to dive riyht down as 
though the mud had caught so solid a hold that 
it would never let go again, and then with a 
great wrench up it came and danced towards the 
stars, The only thing to be done was for 
M. Felicite to hold Miriel as tightly as he 
could, and this he did, and her soft cheek was 
pressed against his old brown one and her hah" 
was about his eyes. As he held her tin n he 
knew suddenly that he would give any joy, and 
treasure, to have something like that for his 
very, very own to keep and guard. Only as a 
hu&lxind, only as a lather, could one reach the 
value of life, and he had been neither— tins 
giving of Miriel into other hands seemed to snap, 
for him, his East links with life. In between the 
jerks he spoke to her : " You know what you are 
doing, my child ? You have thought it all over 
well and with'i^rgiBiafelfiYJ^ He is a good boy r 

your j^Hr^fTf OFftitfiigw* ***** te 



roses, you will not ajways have everything done 
for you as art the chateau, there will be others 

to think about Life demands courage, I 

know that wetf- — -" 

She whispered in his ear that she was prepared. 

" Yes, you are a brave girl and he is a brave boy. 
And I am there if you want me. I may seem an 
old, useless man — but never .forget, my dear, 
that an old gentleman of sixty, may have as - 
young and cheerful a heart as any young man of / 

The horses seemed now to have exhausted 
their fury and the storm suddenly fell, the grey 
clouds broke like paper and gave place to a 
faint and trembling blue, and somewhere between 
the tops of the pine-trees two stars were hanging. 
They were climbing now, very slowly, the steep 
pine-strewn road that leads to Bois de l'Eau. 
Here in a clearing of the forest, looking through 
the trees out over Villeton and a purple country, 
stands the village. Now, after the storm, 
everything was clean and scented. The road 
shone with rain and the red roofs of the houses 
caught the evening light. There was a great 
peace about everything. 

She clung to him and told him that he would 
always be everything to herself and to " Jean " — 
but even as she spoke her eyes were searching fcr 
her lover, her ears straining for his voice. At 
the door of the little inn he left her, and at the 
actual moment of his going she seemed to realize 
what he had been to her, and she clung to him 
and begged him to let her know at once how he 
fared with her aunt and kissed him again and 
again. Then he let her go, gave the old coach- 
man the order to drive back to the chateau, and 
so started on the bravest deed of his life. 


Jt was quite dark when the chateau was 
reached and the black gates stood out, fierce and 
threatening, against the night sky. There was a 
cold wind blowing and making a sad little 
noise amongst the trees, and the coachman's 
teeth were chattering. As M. Felicity paid and 
dismissed him he was conscious that his own. 
knees were trembling in a most unfortunate 
manner, and he walked up the dark melancholy 
avenue with a stronger desire for his own pleasant 
sitting-room and the kind heart of Mme. Bette 
than he had ever known in his life before. The 
great bell of the chateau clanged like a remorse- 
ful man's conscience when- he pulled it, and he 
was ushered into the old music-room through 
the passages of a house that seemed peopled 
with ghosts. 

The old servant, who had a face like a nut- 
cracker and faded velvet breeches, said : "I 
will tell Madame la Comtesse," and left M. 
F61icite to a troop of fears and misgivings. The 
music-room was always dim and dusty, but 
to-night the silver candlesticks over the fire-place 
burned but badly and the wind outside the 
windows made a most melancholy sighing. 

M. F61icite stood in the middle of the floor, 
too nervous to take off his coat or to sit 
down, wishing that when the door opened it 

might disclose a whole troop of the most virulent 
Prussians rather than the aged hostess of the 

When the door did open it displayed Madame 
la Comtesse already, as fate would have it, in one 
of her worst tempers. 

Seen dimly in the candle-light, leaning on 
her ebony cane, with her grey silk dress and 
her white hair forming a kind of mist about her 
sharp nose and chin and gleaming eyes, she 
formed no gentle picture. 

"Weil, Monsieur," she said, "this is a late 
hour to bring back my niece. We have been 

anxious about her " And then suddenly 

looking round the room — " and where is she ? " 

" She is at present," said M. F61icit6, staring 
straight at those fierce eyes, " under the 
care of her husband, M. Jean Marteau, in the 
inn at Bois de l'Eau." 

There was a pause that seemed to M. FelicitS 
like a thousand hours. He heard all the 
clocks in the chateau ticking at once. He saw 
her straighten herself on her cane — then she gave 
a dry, hard little laugh. 

" Would Monsieur do me the honour to tell 
me why it is that he considers this an occasion 
for idle jesting ? " 

"It is no jest," M. Felicity answered, 
steadily. " Mile. Miriel was married to M. Jean 
Marteau two months ago at Toulouse. She 
came and told me this. She dared not face 
your very natural anger. I assured her that I 
would inform you, and I conducted her myself 
to Bois de l'Eau this afternoon. It seemed to 
me the best thing to do." 

The old lady looked at him and then, very 
slowly, without taking her eyes from his face, 
her cane tapping the floor as she advanced, she 
came towards him until at last she almost 
touched him. .He did not move from his place. 
Her eyes glowed like burning coals. 

Then she began, very slowly, to speak and to 
tell him her opinion of him, and such a flood of 
abuse poured from her lips that even the peasant 
women on market day in Villeton could not have 
equalled it. She continued it for ten minutes by 
the marble clock over the fire-place. He did 
not move nor make any sound during this time. 

When at last she failed for breath he said: 
" Madame, I deserve, perhaps, your anger for 
the thing that I have done this afternoon, but 
you shall make no reflections upon my friends 
nor my family. I have lived a life that has not 
been of the best, and I have done many things 
during the, course of it for which the good God 
shall one day call me to account, but Mile. Miriel 
was, and is, dearer to me than anyone in the 
world, and I would die many times over rather 
than any harm should happen to her. M. 
Marteau " 

" Mention that name to me," the old woman 
in a trembling voice shook out at him, " and I'll 
have you whipped by my men-servants." 

" He is a good man," continued M. F61icit£, 
" and, maybe, he is a great one. He will care 
for her like a true gentleman." 

Then, suddenly, he gave a little sigh. " You 
and 1, Madame, are old people. The world is 




Il'tflfeit'i WtrtetFilm*, Ltd. 

Pickford in a vessel d sifting out to sea. The 
vessel selected for her use was an aged 
fishing schooner, and after it had been towed 
oat to sea by two tugs it was set adrift with 
Mjss Pickford, supposedly, the only one on 

Gazing disconsolately upon the ocean, as the 
forlorn Hulda, Mary Pickford leaned over the 
side of the vessel and clung tearfully to an 
absurdly ^mall kitten, while Maurice Tourneur, 
hidden from sight, directed the camera. 

Suddenly, and quit ctedly, the schooner 

listed toward the bow and rapidly settled in the 
water. ^The old boat had sprung a leak, some- 
thing which was not in the scenario of the film, 
Mary Pickford 'a simulated distress changed to 
feminine fright as the waves broke over the 
schooner, and *b.e called to Tcurneur, who fought 
fojg way to Maiy *i> iiigb in water, 

to the helm, and also to the kitten, that was 
miaowing in fright. 

" Let go of the kitten ! " shouted Tourneur. 

" 1 won't ! " was Mary's spirited reply, 
" This kitten goes with me," 

And the kitten did, although it was hardly 
more than a ball of wet fur when it was finally 
j' % d by motor -boats, 

It was while playing in M Edmund Burke " 
that Mrs, Smith decided to rename the little 
Smiths for stage purposes. This step required 
careful consideration, but she finally solved the 
problem by annexing the name of her paternal 
ulmother, which was Pickford. So the 
Smiths now vanish from this chronicle, and 
tfter we are to consider the fortunes of 
Mrs, Pickford and her precocious daughter, 
Mary, >uc UJ 1 .1 } ; 

All flio Pfclsfcfftis atffod in " Ttdmund Burke." 



And everybody worked, even including Brother 
Jack, then a sturdy little boy, who, much against 
his will, donned a wig and petticoats and played 
girl parts, protesting to his mother with masculine 
indignation at the close of each performance. 

Through all this period of gipsyingon the road, 
little Mary Pickford kept her eyes and ears so 
wide open that nothing escaped them. She was 
absorbing by keen mental processes those 
" tremendous trifles "' of the player's art that are 
so essential to stage success. She was learning 
what to do with her hands and feet and how 
to control the muscles of her lace ; how to look 
grave and gay by turns, and how to telegraph 
mental impressions to an audience by the wireless 
system of pantomime. Everywhere she went 
she was a favourite with audiences. 

By way of various one- night stands she at 
length arrived in a New Jersey town, the nearest 
she had ever come to the great feverish city of 
glamour and riches toward which every actress 
sooner or later turns ambitious feet + And one 
memorable Thursday morning Mary Pickford 
cut rehearsals and the Gordian knot at the 
same time and hied her New York- ward with 
her little chin tilted at a determined angle. 

Theatrical history was to be made that morn- 
ing. As the ferry-boat brought her closer and 
closer to the city of her dreams the day seemed 
fateful with potentialities. She was tingling with 
excitement, and her heart was pounding madly, 

On this wonderful morning Mr + David Belasco 
was conducting the first rehearsal 
of "The Warrens. of Virginia/' still 
ignorant of the fact that a deter- 
mined little girl was headed his way. 

first rehearsal of ** The Warrens of Virginia " 
was not going satisfactorily — the chi4d part of 
Betty Warren was not well filled. Mr. Belasco 
had no time to interview a little unknown, even 
if she had cut a rehearsal and come all the way 
from an obscure Jersey town. 

As kindly as possible the doorkeeper broke the 
news to Mary. Then the Fates grinned and the 
doorkeeper had one of the surprises of his life, 
for little Mary Pickford gave vent to one of those 
wind -storm ish outbursts of temper for which 
the great Mary Pickford is now famous, and 
which cause her millions of admirers throughout 
the country to chuckle with huge enjoyment. 

Before the astounded doorkeeper really knew 
what had happened, a small, tense, and tornado- 
like figure was projected through the stage door 
of the old t liea t re and landed upon the stage, 
breathless and panting. It was Mar}* Pickford s 
first and most dramatic entrance upon any New 
York stage. 

The chitd regained her self-possession lonf* 
before the scandalized actors had regained theirs 
With that irresistible smile of hers she crossed 
the stage and confronted Mr. Belasco, 

l * Oh/* she exclaimed, delightedly, " I know 
you by your picture," 

Drama always has and always will appeal to 
Mr. Belasco— -and this was drama personified. 

After that the rehearsals for " The Warrens 

of Virginia " went smoothly, for the child part 

of Betty Warren was being played with more 

than adequate skill by Miss Mar)' 


At the stage door 
of the Belasco 
Theatre she de- 
manded, with that 
imperious little way 
oi hers, to see the 
master of the show. 
The doorkeeper was 
a kindly soul — un- 
usually so for a stage door- 
keeper — but he informed 
her politely that what she 
asked was impossible. The 
child was unperturbed by 
his refusal. 

** I must see him," she 
said* simply. " Tve cut 
rehearsal just to come. 
I've gat to see him/' 

And there was some- 
thing in her manner that 
prompted the doorkeeper 
to make a timid request of 
Mr, Belasco. The request 
was, of course, 


, refused. The ><*W 

This is what Mr. Belasco has to 
say about her : — 

" Rehearsing Mary Pickford was 
a great pleasure. She was a hard 
worker, the first at rehearsals and 
the last to go, 

|£ It was remarkable how she 
could visualize a story. Oftun 
I would tell her one, and even 
as I told it she would illustrate 
it with her ever-changing ex- 
pressions and delicately subtle 
movements of body* 

"On the first night of 'The 
Warrens of Virginia ' little 
Mary was the most composed 
of the entire company. This 
same composure has been 
one of her greatest assets 
on the screen. Her fea- 
tures did not become 
strained. She is all repose 
— easy and graceful at all 
times. From the first she 
gave promise of the ability 
that has since made her 
the greatest motion-picture 
artist in the world, 

"Before she left me 
Miss Pickford said : ' Mr. 
ne of HER greatest Belasco, remember, no 
successes, a.-- .1 BHttsr where I am or 

tr*ftftj*«£* ° ri 3 m vnat I am doing, uh,n 




you want me just let mc know, and I'll 

"I did not see her again lor a number of years, 
but I. watched her grow in popularity. Then 
came the time when I wanted to produce a 
child's play t ' A Good Little Devil. 1 

" By this time Mary Pickford was famous and 
had become known throughout the land as the 
* Queen of the Movies.' But T *ent for her and 
she came to me that da;'. 

" * Mary/ I said to her, ' T have a beautiful 
part, one that is just suited to 
you. You will make a great 
success in it and I need you 
in it/ 

** ' Do you really and truly 
need me ?. 1 

" ' 1 certainly do/ 

" ' Then I'll come back to 
you/ she said. 

" Her success in the difficult 
rSh of the little blind girl was 
phenomenal. Nothing like her 
remarkable performance of a 
child's part had ever been 
seen in New York or elsewhere. 
And her reward came when 
she was sought by managers 
with such eagerness that she 
commanded the highest salary 
paid to any moving- picture 
actress in the world." 

For three seasons Mary Pick- 
ford continued successfully in 
" »■ barrens of Virginia. 7 ' It tHAkACTEBI , 

was at the end of this penod 
that the craze for motion pic- 
tures was at its zenith, and as 
the bread and butter problem was again becoming 
somewhat of an issue with the little actress, with 
no new Bclasco part looming up on the near 
horizon, she decided to investigate the photo -play 
possibilities in New York, 

For several weeks she remained an extra, 
again awaiting the call for her short and unim- 
portant part, always on time, obedient, quiet, 
and unobtrusive* Finally, however, apparently 
by chance, she was cast for a part — a leading 
part— in which she played with a good- looking 
young leading man named Owen Moore. The 
two young people, enacting fictitious love scenes 
in the tawdry glare of the studio lights, found 
real love, and they were married, 

Last summer Mary Pickford "did her bit " 
by producing " The Little American/' which was 
a poignant protest against the atrocities com- 
mitted by the Germans in France, uncompromis- 
ing in its graphic realism and splendidly acted 
by Miss Ptcfcfbrd, who rose to heights of emotional 
intensity never before reached in any of her less 
tragic pictures* 

At present, however, she is doing her bit in a 
much more practical way than appearing in a war 
61m. She has sent two ambulances to the 
Red Cross for use in France and has " adopted " 
six hundred American soldier boys* Yes, 

amazing as it may sound, Mary Pickford is the 
14 war mother " of six hundred husky iJ Sammies/' 
who are members of the Second Battalion First 
California Field Artillery. They are now known 
as " Mary Pickford 'fc Fighting Six Hundred/* 
and she has agreed to keep them supplied with 
tobacco and other delicacies for the duration 
of the war. She has also given each one of 
these soldiers a gold locket containing her 
miniature. They will wear these lockets when 
they go into action 4i somewhere in France." 

MATE/ 1 
Wntktr't World 1 Fiim*, Lid. 

This patriotic little star is indefatigable in her 
etiorts to make the lot of the enlisted men in her 
own country and " over there " more comfortable, 
In her large California studios, where her success- 
ful photo -pi ays are rehearsed, she maintains a 
permanent tobacco fund for the soldiers and 
personally collects money and " smokes M every 
week from members of her company and other 
workers in the studios. This fund is the pet 
among her many charitable activities. 

It is easy to understand Miss Pickford'?? success 
in child parts when one considers that she ha±s 
never grown up. As the Peter Fan of the Movies 
she is always at home when surrounded by 

" 1 haven't any * methods * of acting," says 
Miss Pickford, who is now appearing solely for 
the Art era ft Pictures Corporation. '* It is easy 
for me to act the part of a child, because I adore 
children. You see, I associate with little f^irls 
until I really forget I'm grown up. I transform 
myself into a little girl for the time being, and 
act as she would act in similar circumstances, 
that was the way I did * A Pour Little Ricb Girl/ 
While I was playing that part I was the p< <>r 
little rich girl, suffering all of her unsatisfied 
yearninga-jicgj.the things that money couldn't 

University of Michigan 

* Tina 



Illustrated ty H. V. B, Kline and Tom Peddie, 

ME early inarming light washed 
in a grey wave over the dark 
green crest of the spruce forest, 
and shortly the valley was 
suffused with shimmering gold 
as the sun's first beams fell upon, 
the mist- curtain, that overhung 
the low-lying ground. Each tiny atcm of 
moisture among the millions in the dew-laden 
atmosphere reflected the golden tint radiantly, 
then slowly dimmed and was absorbed by the 
new warmth that dime creeping into the air. 
As the last curling wisps of vapour dis- 
solved, the sunlight swept over the wild meadow, 
disclosing its rich enamelling of wild flowers 
and lush green grass, Where the earth dipped 
slightly to hold the seeping water of a turbulent 
stream that flowed near by, a shallow mere 
fringed with purple-glowing nag was the last to 
yield its dew coverlet to the spreading rays. 

Emerging from the black wall of trees that 
rimmed this quiet gbde, a she- bear with a single 
cub at her side cast appraising eyes over the 
sparkling expanse. Halting for a moment at 
the meadow s edge she sniffed the air inquiringly, 
then shambled through the wet grass to drink 
at the pool. The cub s tiny bright eyes snapped 
with mischievous interest in each object that met 
Ins view, He suppressed his exuberance, how- 
ever, for already he knew that quietness and 
caution were advisable in the open spaces until 
they were examined thoroughly for possible 
lurking daiiEcrs. 

The mot her -bear drank of the clear cool water, 
and with her morning thirst satisfied quested the 
meadow for breakfast. The cub was in the 
kindergarten stage of schooling, and was learning 
to supplement the lessening maternal supply 
of ncurishment with more solid food. With 
twinkling baby eyes he watched his mother as 
she sought the roots of Indian turnip and prairie 
crccus and ploughed them up with her snout. 
The cub sim pled them and found the crocus 
roots eatable, but the pungency of the Indian, 
turnip was rather too biting for his sensitive 
throat. Anyway, he had breakfasted on more 
familiar fcod back in the warm den under an 
overhanging reck in the heart of the forest, and 
was not very hungry ; and after gratifying a 
merely curious interest in the provender which 
his mother found so appetizing, he nuzzled her 
furry black flank impatiently. 

When the roots palled she accepted the hint 
and the two moved off toward the stream. Here 
the old bear sniffed along the waters edge, seeking 
any disabled fish that might have been cast up, 
and rooting among the stones in the shallows 
for tadpoles* A scurrying crawfish she hooked 
up with her claws and drew to the hank for her 
offspring's edification, watching him with shrewd 
eyes as he cautiously moved it about with his 
paw and smelt the strange-appearing thing 
suspiciously. A nip on his tender muzzle from 
the tiny pincers scut him back on his haunches 
with a whitvmcr of astonishment ; and the 




in the habits of crawfish, crushed it beneath her 
foot and swallowed the titbit with smacking 

The stream yielded very little food this morn- 
ing, and her hearty appetite impelled her to seek 
a more bountiful repast. 6iving the cub a low 
guttural command to follow, she started off across 
the meadow and into the woods, heading for a 
chain of burned-over hills that lay to the east. 
On the other ^side of this low range she knew of 
certain unused pasture lands where grew a fruit 
much to her liking. 

A part of the way was rough, but soon they 
passed the crest of the rise, scrambled down the 
slope, and gained the open ground below. This 
was a stretch of stump-land pasture where a 
settler had once grazed his meagre flocks, but 
it had long been deserted. 

As the two descended to the open an enticing 
fragrance in the air caused the older bear to sniff 
hungrily and shuffle along at a faster gait. The 
pleasing aromatic quality that reached her nose 
arose from a low dense growth that matted the 
ground — a carpet of wild strawberries, the tiny 
deep-red* fruit glowing brilliantly among the 
half-shielding green leaves. The older bear fell 
to the banquet ravenously. 

The cub watched with interested eyes, sniffed 
the berries, and at last tentatively mouthed them. 
His sharp little teeth pierced the delicate pulp ; 
he licked the sweet juice from his lips and found 
it distinctly pleasing. 

He ate until he could hold no more, his skin 
stretched so tight with his first meal of straw- 
berries that he could scarcely waddle along after 
his more capacious mother. Finally even her 
enonnotts appetite was glutted, and she sought a 
warm grassy pocket between the roots of a large 
stump and curled up to bask in the sun. The 
cub sprawled beside her, his little paunch 
ludicrously distended. 

When he had rested long enough to feel the 
need of renewed activity, his playful sallies ended 
his mother's sleepy comfort, and she rose and 
sauntered off toward the deserted buildings, the 
cub following in hgr footsteps. t 

No trace of human odour lay around the little 
abandoned farmstead. With all a bear's over- 
weening curiosity she nosed about the cabin and 
sheds expectant of something edible ; but 
nothing rewarded her keen nostrils save the 
medley of scents left by the porcupines and mice 
and squirrels that for years had made the place a 
rendezvous. A red squirrel discovered her 
presence from his perch on the ridge-pole of the 
cabin, and ran up and down the moss-grown 
" scoop " roof, chattering wrathful insults at the 
; atruders. The bear eyed him maliciously for a 
aoment, then ignored the insolent little black- 
uard and continued her explorations. 

The cub at first kept close to his mother's 

ide> ill at ease in these strange surroundings. 

Jut gradually youthful curiosity overcame his 

vmidity and he strayed from the protecting 

resence to do a little investigating on his own 

:count. While he sought to fathom the 

n, stery of some rotting timbers overgrown with 

eds that lay in the rear of the cabin, the old 

bear pursued her vague quest around the out- 

A sudden muffled squalling brought her racing 
toward the sound, fur bristling along her back and 
eyes snapping with angry apprehension. The 
cry was plainly for help, and she was ready to 
battle any living thing that threatened her 
offspring. But no marauder was in sight, nor 
was the cub either, for that matter, though the 
plaintive squeals still filled the air, sounding 
strangely unreal but unmistakably his and quite 
near to her. Puzzled and anxious she sought 
out his tracks with her nose, but these were so 
criss-crossed that they only confused her. Her 
rangings gradually drew the distracted mother 
closer to the outcry, and at last she knew that it 
arose from the clump of weeds. Picking her way 
over the crumbling wood at their roots she came 
upon a yawning black hole whence the pitiful 
summons issued. 

The cub had tumbled into an old well, the 
wooden kerb of which lay in decay about its 
mouth, overgrown with a screening mags of 

freen. Fortunately it was dry and so matted 
t the bottom with litter that the force of his 
fall had been broken; the fat little body had 
suffered npthing worse than a severe shaking 
up. Terror-stricken with the sudden plunge and 
the quick enveloping blackness, he squawled 
miserably for his mother. ; 

Soon he heard her questioning calls and saw 
the silhouette of her head against the disc of 
blue light above him. But her arrival brought 
only the comfort of her presence ; she was 
impotent to rescue him. 

With yearning eyes the mother-bear circled 
the opening, crouching at the brink now and 
again to look down into the dark hole, whining 
anxiously and bidding him with low rumblings 
to try to climb up. The cub whimpered in reply 
and strove vainly to find footing up the straight 
walls At first she could not discern the small 
black-furred form in the denser blackness of 
the bottom, but as her ceaseless trampling about 
the edge broke down the weeds the light filtered 
in and made it possible for her to distinguish him. 
She flattened herself on the ground beside the 
well and stretched down first one forepaw and 
then the other in a fruitless attempt to reach the 
imploring little captive ; and once she tentatively 
backed to the verge to essay a descent bv the 
usual bear method. But the crumbling of the 
earth as she sought for a foot-hold with her hind 
feet discouraged her, and she renewed her circling 
and impotent whining. 

Suddenly she lifted her head to a new and 
startling sound. It was the beat of quick foot- 
falls that came to her ears, and as they drew 
closer she growled menacingly and bared her 
teeth in sullen defiance. Whatever it might be 
it was advancing upon the cabin from the pasture, 
and dimly she associated the intruder with her 
cub's imprisonment in the pitfall. This of a 
certainty was the author of his mishap, and all 
her dormant ferocity blazed into being as she 
lurched forward tc &ive battle to the unknown 
enemy before it could complete its designs. It 
was coming rapidly nearer, and she rushed to the 






front of the cabin to intercept it. A* the enraged 
mot her- bear rounded the building a flying form 
darted inside before she could strike it down, and 
the door crashed shut against her snarling, 
savagely-grinning fact;. 

The following in&taut* to her angry amazement* 
she was assailed from behind by a screeching 
fury of teeth and claws. Immediately she found 
herself engaged in a battle to the death with a 
second enemy of whose approach she had ieceived 
no warning. 

A little earlier this same day an old buckboard 
holding two people deeply interested in each other 
crept over a seldom -travelled backwoods road 
that skirted the eastern edge of the abandoned 
farm. The slender pretty girl beside the sturdy 
young driver looked up into his eyes shyly as he 
told her of his plans for the future. 

Jeff had jumped at the hint dropped by the 
girl's mother that Sally was to return home that 
day from her spell of nursin» old Miss Hammer- 
smith over at Big Forks ; and he had volunteered 
to go and letch her. For many months Jetf 
Tucker had held certain well-defined ideas, which 
he had not yet come to in his teiiing of his large 
plans to Sally. But perhaps Sally In galls was 
not as unaware of what they might be as he 
imagined, Jeff's eyes said much that his tongue 
found it difficult to frame. Now he was leading 
up to the most important phase of his dreams. 

An unclouded summer sun distilled from the 
red- fruited choke-cherry thickets and massed 
blooms of brier rose and wild raspberry that 
lined the rutted tracks an essence that the light 
breezes dissolved into an unmatchable iragrance. 
And young blood was responding to the urge of 
the perfumed air, vibrant with the notes of song* 
sparrows and yellow-hammers that alighted on 
swaying milk- weed stalks, then rose and alighted 
again farther on as the buckboard with its 
absorbed occupants pursued them slowly along 
the winding road, 

But the ancient vehicle was traitor to the 
lover's cause. As it rolled over a " thank-you- 
inarm " on the down grade of a hiil the forward 
axle snapped and broke — and so did the thread 
of the young man's discourse. At the sudden 
lurch Jeff threw his arm round Sally's waist to 
prevent her falling forward upon the home, 
which stopped in his tracks as the whi file- tree 
came down about his heels, Sally's always 
blushing cheeks blushed redder with the contact, 
and she nimbly drew T out ol his embrace and 
stepped to the ground. Jeff covered his lapse 
with a hasty examination oi the wreck and a 
String oE mild expletives. 

M JHhti the thing ! We can't noways get home 
in it now, Sally/* he complained. -l Wish I could 
fasten up that axle, but IVe got no wire," He 
pondered over thei .rihiatioji for a moment, 
M Tell you what we'll have to do, Sally/* he 




continued. " I'll tie Whitey here to the fence 
and foot it back to the Forks and get some 
baling wire white you wait here; I won't be 
gone an hour/* 

" I reckon that's the best we can do/' Sally 
agreed. " Bnt I'll tell you what, Jeff ; instead 
of waiting here I'll tramp over to the old deserted 
farm and gather a mess of wild strawberries. 
It's only just across the rise yonder. There's a 
sight of them growing in the pasture lot and 
nobody ever goes there berrying. You can stop 
at home with ma and me for supper and have 
some of them too/' she offered, smiling rosily. 

Jeff grinned happily. " Now, that's fine, 
Sally ; yon bet I will. And I've got an old grain- 
bag under the seat you can pick them in/ 1 He 
fished it out, and handing it to Sally strode 
rapidly back along the road they had travelled. 

Sally's lithe young figure swung easily over the 
rocky, tree-grown rise, and shortly she came to 
the pasture where the wild strawberries grew. 
Here the profusion of small scarlet fruit peeping 
enticingly lrom its leafy screen delighted her 
eyes, and she stood for a moment gazing over 
the inviting prospect* At the far side of the 
pasture she had a fleeting glimpse of two bears, 
mother and cub, just before they vanished 
around a hummock. The wind was blowing 
toward Sally and they apparently had not 
become aware of her presence. The sight brought 
no fear to the backwoods-bred girl, for she knew 
that unless provoked into defence the black 
bears of the region would avoid human-kind 
whenever possible. Rather, she found delight 
in the incident. " The cunning thing ! " Sally 
murmured smilingly, as she noted the funny 
waddling gait of the cub. "He's got a tummy 
full of berries, I reckon, and can only just toddle 
after his ma/' 

She fell to picking the fragrant fruit. Gradu* 
ally she approached the north edge of the pasture 
where the gloomy spruce forest reared its darL 
green and black wall. A peculiar chill grew 
upon her as she drew nearer to the wood. She 
frowned impatiently at the unpleasant sensation 
and sought to shrug it away. But it persisted, 
and something impelled her to " glance half 
apprehensively toward the uprearing tree growth. 

Her eyes widened with fear at what they 
beheld, and she knew that she should have 
heeded earlier the strange warning semi-con- 
sciousness of being spied upon by a malignant 
presence. For a slender sinuous form, slaty- 
blue in the shadowy half-light of the trees, was 
gliding toward her. It was a panther, and she 
shuddered with sickening dread as all the tales 
she had heard of the animal's cruelty when once 
it was inspired to attack a human flitted through 
her mind. While her thoughts raced the 
panther was slowly creeping nearer, its gaunt 
body hugging the ground, the long.tail twitching 
its premonition of a leap. She still stood staring 
at it, fascinated by the green-glowing eyes that 
stared malevolently in return. She knew what 
the twitching of its tail meant— that the big cat 
was about to leap, that in two or three quick 
short bounds it would be upon her. With a 
scream she turned and fled. 

Instinctively she headed for the old deserted 
cabin, for the idea that she might possibly gain 
it and shut herself in against the panther had 
quickly occurred to her. For a brief moment 
the animal hesitated ; the shrill cry dismayed 
it and it shrank back, snarling in angry fear. 
Then the strong urge that already had overcome 
the great cat's hereditary indisposition to attack 
a human prevailed again, and with the encourage- 
ment of the girl's evident fright it bounded after 
her. Its sinewy, graceful body curved over the 
ground in swift pursuit, but Sally's strong young 
limbs were fleet and she flew over the springy 
ground like a deer. For a distance she main- 
tained her lead, but soon she realized with horror 
that the panther was gaining on her. 

As she drew closer to the cabin Sally noted 
thankfully that the door was open. She gave a 
spurt and reached the doorway a rod or two 
ahead of her pursuer. 

But just as she was about to plunge through 
the doorway she was appalled by the sudden 
apparition that rounded the corner of the cabin. 
A big black demon of a bear, with surprising 
agility for so lumbering a body, shot toward her 
with a ferocious menacing cough. She saw its 
gleaming savage teeth and evilly snapping red- 
rimmed eyes as the beast, almost upon her, 
struck out savagely with its deadly claw-armed 
forefoot. But the spurt carried her through the 
opening a fraction of a second in advance of the 
blow, and she whirled about and slammed shut 
the door as the monster rushed upon it. Feeling 
feverishly for the fastening, her fingers fell upon 
the rude wooden bar which by good fortune 
remained intact, and she dropped it quickly into 
place. Then she sank to the floor, quivering and 

Almost instantly there arose on the other side 
of the door a raucous confusion of snarls, growls, 
and thrashing bodies. Sally understood what 
had taken place ; she had not had time to realize 
the likelihood of this meeting of the two pursuers, 
and the evidence that her assailants had come 
together in battle sent her into a spasm of 
hysterical laughter. 

Outside the combat raged fiercely. Seldom 
does a panther venture to attack a bear, and if 
the bear has a cub then the big cat will avoid a 
meeting with all possible haste. And the bear, 
unless it is a she-bear whose cub is threatened, 
will evade conflict with a panther if evasion is 
compatible with dignity. 

But in this instance the paths of both animals 
had converged to a common point; each was 
intent on striking down the human being who had 
escaped at the place of meeting, and each was 
inflamed with the lust to kill. As in the cub lay 
the impelling motive of the bear's attempt to 
destroy the supposed enemy, so the panther's 
own offspring were the moving cause of her 
murderous venture. Fearful of human beings 
as she was, the short commons on which she had 
subsisted since the recent disappearance of her 
mate had made her ravenous for food. 

The drain upon her body by her* two always 
hungry cubs required hestrty fare, and if she was 
to satisfy ttxeTtt she mur»t forage more successfully 



than she had of late. Consequently when the 
woman, who the panther instinctively knew was 
the less, dangerous of the hated man-kind, had 
appeared before her eyes as she noiselessly 
prowled the thickets for game, the pangs of 
famine had overcome' her dread. Forthwith she 
had begun a furtive stalking of the unsuspecting 

When the expected quarry darted into the log 
sanctuary, and the bear miraculously shot into 
view at the same instant, -the panther had 
neither opportunity nor inclination to draw 
back. The bear was interfering with her hunt, 
the unforgivable breach of law among the "wild 
earthlings-, and she descended upon the back of 
the hulking black interloper in a frenzy of rage 
and disappointment. 

The bear twisted about impoteritly, then 
rolled over* the better to dislodge the clutching 
horror. Her heavy weight nearly crushed the 
breath Out of the panther's body, but the cat 
managed #> retain her advantage by squirming 
found until the two were locked in a death- 
grapple face to face. Here the panther was 
better placed for the deadly work of her claws, 
and she raked the bear's vulnerable spots with 
long, eviscerating strokes. The bear was by no 
means idle with her own deep-cutting weapons, 
which tore mercilessly at the tawny hide ; while 
both infuriated fighters were employing their 
lavage jaws with ruthless energy. 

The bear, being at a woeful disadvantage, was 
the first to weaken. Her opponent suddenly 
bored into the* relaxing neck and her searching 
teeth speedily brought an end to the heavier 
animal's resistance. The bear collapsed into a 
sprawling, ihtrt black heap, and the victorious 
cat staggeringly withdrew from her vanquished 
enemy. The object of her chase forgotten, she 
dragged her lacerated body away from the 
battle-ground, and slowly and painfully crawled 
in the direction of her den. 

Her heart beating wildly as her ferocious jailers 
fought just outside the door of her refuge, Sally 
glanced about the cabin for a weapon. But 
nothing offered. She wondered if the victor 
would try to force an entrance, and how soon the 
fight would end. One or the other of the animals 
must soon succumb in the grim contest. 

Several times the struggling animals brought 
up against the door, which creaked ominously 
with the impact ; and once Sally's heart came up 
into her throat as a particularly violent crash 
caused several of the decaying wooden pegs of 
the fastenings to snap under the stress. She 
leaned hef weight against" the bulging planks 
and held the bar in place with her hands. The 
door withstood the shock, and shortly the danger 
passed for the moment as the wildly agitated 
bodies rolled away. 

The sounds of conflict gradually diminished in 
fury as the minutes passed, until the listening 
girl could hear only the low grumble of worrying 
jaws. Finally, Sally's straining ears heard a 
gurgling, choking sigh — and then quiet. Now 
her fear rose again as she wondered what might 
next transpire. Apprehensively she set her gaze 

on the window through which she half expected 
to see a fierce head appear as the victor inexorably 
returned to its first quest. 

But a faint call came through the window 

Sally's heart beat faster with joy as she recog- 
nized Jeff's voice. Then £ new dread assailed 
her — perhaps Jeff would, all unwarned, run into 
whichever animal it was that had survived and 
would be attacked by it ! Ignoring the danger to 
herself in drawing the beast's attention, she 
approached the window and screamed a caution 
to Jeff, whom she could now discern running 
across the pasture toward the cabin. Her voice 
drowned out his own shouts as he raced toward 
her, either failing to hear her warning or choosing^ 
to ignore it. 

He was without any weapon of defence, and 
the danger into which he came plunging with 
great unheeding strides filled her with mis- 
givings. A feeling that was more than anxiety, 
more than admiration, surged into Sally's heart. 
Under its prompting she turned swiftly, lifted 
the bar of the door, and throwing it open ran out 
to meet her man, to share with him the peril he 
was braving for her sake. She almost stumbled 
upon the dead bear ; it was the panther they had 
to fear. " ' 

A joyous shout greeted her. Jeff bounded 
forward and gathered her to him. For a moment 
she struggled and tried to tell him of the danger 
that lurked about, taut he quickly reassured her. 
Then as the truth dawned upon Sally she quieted 
in his arms, and he held her close, this time is 
though by right. Into the eyes of each slowly 
there crept an understanding that made un- 
necessary the halting words Jeff had be^n about 
to utter when the buckboard collapsed — a 
pledge as irrevocable in the minds of these two 
as any ceremony. 

Happy and unabashed they stood holding each 
other's hands as Sally detailed her experience and 
Jeff explained his coming. 

" I feared for you, Sally, when I saw where 
you dropped the bag of strawberries in the 
pasture. I'd come over to find you when I got 
back to the buckboard and you weren't there. 
Then I shouted and looked all about, and saw 
your running tracks and the tracks of a panther. 
I followed them, andl was scared." 

" What's that, Jeff ? " interrupted Sally, 
nervously, pressing closer to him. They listened, 
and heard the whining of an animal in distress, 
the sound strangely stifled. 

He studied the plaintive cry intently. His 
forest-trained ears quickly identified it. 

" It's a young one, most likely a bear ex . 
Let's look." 

" Of course," remembered Sally. " I'd forg t 
about the cub I saw with the mother bear wh 1 
I first got to the pasture. I wonder where < 1 
earth it can be ? " 

Together they searched to locate its hidin - 
place. The whimpering calls finally drew thf 1 
to the well, and looking down they saw 1 e 
imprisoned bafty be;ir. 


A he poor little thing! $aid bally, cc - 
ionateiy. " It's MgMened to death. Ca t 







you get it out, Jeff ? We mustn't leave it here 
to die," 

" Of course ; but 111 have to get a rope and 
someone to help. I'm curious about that 
panther, though ; let's have a look at it first.' 1 

They followed the bloody trail of the animal 
until they came to where it had fallen in its 
tracks. The stark tawny 
form showed grim proof 
of the punishment its 
adversary had inflicted , 
and die wonder was that 
the big cat had dragged 
its sorely wounded body 
so far. In the gaunt 
flanks and the evidence 
cif its motherhood the 
woodsman's eyes read 
another chapter of the 

" And now I under* 
stand something else/' he 
said. 4t It isn't often a 
panther' 11 attack a human 
being, but this one has 
cubs romewhere in the 
bush and was nearly 
starved trying to get 
enough food for herself 
and them* It must have 
been her mate Sam 
Hitchcock killed a week 
ago. So now there's a 
couple of young ones 
that will never grow up 
to kill sheep/' 

" But, oh, Jeff F we can't 
let those poor little 
kittens starve \ " Sally's 
blue eyes had grown 
tender with pity for the 
helpless cubs that doubt- 
less were even now feeling the pangs of hunger. 
Before her supplicating gaze Jeffs practical 
view-point underwent a change. 

'* I'll hunt them out, Sally, if you say so," he 
said, indulgently. "But the first thing to do is 
to get you home to your ma ; she'll be worrying 
about you. Then I and your pa can come baclo 

with a rope, an' I'll fish out the bear cub and 
then back-track the panther to heT den and— 
what shall I do with them all, Sally ; kill them 
to save their lives ? '* he grinned. 

Sally was nonplussed for a moment. She hated 
the thought of having three innocent, cunning 
little wild babies killed, even if they were of the 
" varmint " kind. But 
of course it wouldn't do 
to turn the barnyard 
into a menagerie ; her 
father would have objec- 
tions. Then her face 
brightened and she 
beamed a shy smile at 
her stalwart lover. 

" We could sell them 
to that collector of wild 
animals for circuses who 
comes around, Jeff, and 
buy a lot of nice homey 
things— — " Sally paused, 
blushing at the picture 




her words called up, 

" You bet we can I f * 
agreed Jeff, delightedly, 
admiration for the clever 
thought shining in hia 
eyes. " You've got a 
wonderful little head, 

Jeffs delight was more 
for this spoken proof of 
the wonderful new rela- 
tionship between them 
than for the material 
aspect of Sally's plan ; 
but he added a sugges- 
tion of his own, " Don r t 
forget that we've got 
a bear-skin rug for the 
house already, Sally. 

Pity a panther hide's no good in summer-time 

—we'd have our floor nearly coveredH " He 

kissed her glowing cheeks, 

" Let's hurry back to the road so that I can 

start early on my collecting trip," he proposed ; 

and hand in hand they raced happily across the 

strawberry -matted pasture. 


fTyO not forget that The Strand Magazine may now be sent post free to British 
soldiers and sailors at home and abroad* All you need do is to hand your copies , 
without wrapper or address, over the counter at any post-office in the United Kingdom, 
and they mill be sent by the authorities wherever they will be nwst welcome* 


Original from 

^ i 

Three of Them. 





Illustrated by L, Hocknell. 

HE three children were sitting 

together in a bunch upon the nig 

in the gloaming. Baby was 

talking, so Daddy behind his 

newspaper pricked up his ears. 

for the young lady was silent 

as a rule, and every glimpse of 

her little mind was of interest. 

She was nursing the disreputable little downy 

quilt which she called Wriggly and much 

preferred to any of her dolls. 

H I wonder ii they will let Wriggly into heaven/' 
she said. 

They generally laughed 

The b>ys laughed 
at what Baby said, 

" If they won't I 

" Nor ine r neither, 
Teddy-bear ." said Dimples. 

M I'll tell them it is a nice, 
Wriggly/* said Baby. " I 1 ve 
ray Wriggly/' She coced over 
it and hugged it. 

"What about that P Daddy?" 
asked Laddie, in his earnest 
fashion. '* Are there toys in 
heaven, do you think ? " 

1 ' Of oo u rse t here a re, Every- 
thirg that can make children 

M As many toys as in Ham- 
ley's shop ? " asked Dimples. 

'* More/' said Daddy, stoutly. 

*' Ool M from all three. 

'•Daddy, dear/' said Laddie, 
" Vym been wondering ab-ut 
the deluge," 

" Yes, dear. What was it ? ' h 

" Well, the story about the 
Ark. Ail those animals were 
in the Ark, just two of each, 
for forty days. Wasn't that 
io ? " 

"That is the story." 

" Well. then, what did the 
carnivorous animals cat ? " 

won't go in, either/' she 

if they don't let in my 

clean, blue 

One should be honest with children and not 
put them ofi with ridiculous explanations. 
Their questions about such matters are generally 
much more sensible than their parents' replies. 

" Well, dear/' said Daddy, weighing his 
words, * H these stories are very, very old. The 
Jews put them in the Bible, but they got them 
from the people in Babylon, and the people in 
Babylon probably got them from someone 
else away back in the beginning of things. If 
a story gets passed down like that, one person 
adds a little and another adds a little, and so you 
never get tilings quite as they happened. The 
Jews put it in the Bible exactly as they heard 
it, but it had been going about for thousands 
of years before then," 

" So it was not true ? " 

" Yes, I think it was true. I think there 
was a great flood, and I think that some people 
did escape, and that they saved their beasts, 

J*rtfqXJM V WRIGGLY/ SHB , "ttB41ifiWK , ft AND "UGGED IT." 
Copyright, r 9 i3, by A. Conan UofrtffSITY OF MICHIGAN 



just as we should try to save Nigger and the 
Monkstown cocks and hens if we were flooded - 
out. Then they were able to start again when 
the waters went down, and they were natura lly 
very grateful to God for their escape/' 

" What did the people who didn't escape 
think about it ? " 

" Well, we can't tell that," 

" They wouldn't be very grateful, would 
they ? M 

M Their time was come/' said Daddy, who waa 
a bit of a Fatalist. H ' I expect it was the heat 

"It was jolly hard luck on Noah being swal- 
lowed by a fish after all his trouble, '* saH Dimples, 

" Silly ass ! It was Jonah that was swallowed* 
Was it a whale. 
Daddy ? " 

" A whale ! Why, a 
whale couldn't swallow 
a herring ! " 

" A shark, then ? " 

H ' Well, there again „ 
you have an old story 
which has got twisted 
and turned a good deal. 
No doubt he was a holy 
man who had some 
great escape at sea, 
and then the sailors 
and others who ad- 
mired him invented 
this wonder." 

"Daddy/' said 
Dimples, suddenly, 
" should we do just the 
same as Jesus did ? " 

* f Yes, dear ; He was 
the noblest Person jthat 
ever lived." 

" Well, did Jesus lie 
down every day from 
twelve to one ? " 

11 I don't know that 
He did/' 

"Well, then, I won't 
lie down from twelve 
to one/' 

" If Jesus had been 
a growing boy and had 
been ordered to lie 

down by His M unity and the Doctor, I am sure 
He would have done so/' 

" Did He take malt extract ? " 

" He did what He was told, my son — I am 
sure of that. He was a good man, so He must 
have been a good boy — perfect in all He did/' 

" Baby saw God yesterday/' remarked Laddie, 

Daddy dropped his paper. 

11 Yes, we made up our mind we would all 
lie on our backs and stare at the sky until we 
saw God. So we put the big rug on the lawn 
and then we all lay down side by side, and 
stared and stared. I saw nothing, and Dimples 
saw nothing, but Baby says she saw God 

Baby nodded in her wise way, 

u I saw Him/' she said 



11 What was He like, then ? " 
rt Oh, just God/' 

She would say no more, but hugged her 

The Lady had entered and listened with 
tome trepidation to the frank audacity of the 
children's views. Yet the very essence of faith 
was in that audacity. It was all so unques- 
tionably real. 

" Which is strongest, Daddy, God or the 
Devil ? J< It was Laddie who was speculating 

" Why, God rules everything, of course/' 
" Then why doesn't He kill the Devil ? " 
" And scalp him ? " added Dimples* ' 
11 That would stop all trouble, wouldn't it, 
Daddy ? JJ 

Poor Daddy was 
rather floored. The 
Lady came to his help* 
" If everything was 
good and easy in this 
world, then there would 
be nothing to fight 
against, and so, Laddie, 
our characters would 
never improve.' * 

" It would be like a 
football match with all 
the players on one 
side/' said Daddy, 

" If there was no- 
thing bad, then, nothing 
would be good, for you 
would have nothing to 
compare by/ 1 added 
the Lady. 

M Well, then/' said 
Laddie, with the re- 
morseless logic of child- 
hood, " if that is so, 
then the Devil is very 
useful ; so he can't be 
so very bad, after all.'* 
41 Well, I don't see 
that/ 1 Daddy answered. 
"Our Army can only 
show how brave it is 
by righting the German 
Emperor, but that docs 
not prove that the 
German Emperor is a very nice person, does 
it now ? 

** Besides/' Daddy continued, improving the 
Occasion, " you must not think of the Devi! as 
a person. You must think of ail the mean 
things one could do, and all the dirty things, 
and all the cruel things, and that is really the 
Devil you arc fighting against. You couldn't 
call them useful, could you ? " 
The children thought over this for a little. 
HH Daddy/' said Laddie, " have you ever seen 
God ? " 

" No, my boy. But I see His works. I 
expect that is as near as we can get m this world. 
Look at all the stars at night, and think of the 
Power that made them and keeps each in its 






" He couldn't keep the shooting stars in their 
proper place," said Dimples. 

M I expect He meant them to shoot," said 

" Suppose they all shot, what jolly nights we 
should have I *' cried Dimples. 

" Ycs, JJ said Laddie ; M but after one night 
they would all have gone, and a nice thing 
then 1 M 

" Well, there's always the moon/' remarked 
Dimples, " But, Daddy, is it true that God 
listens to all we say ? " 

11 1 don't know about that," Daddy answered. 
cautiously. You never know into what trap 
those quick little wits may lead you. The Lady 
was more rash, or more orthodox. 

" Yes, dear, He does hear all you say/ 1 

" Is He listenin' now ? " 

41 Yes, dear." 

" Well, I call it vewy rude of Him * " 

Daddy smiled, 
and the Lady 

said Laddie. "It 
ls His duty, and 
He h as to notice 
what yon are 
doing and say- 
ing. Daddy, did 
you ever see a 
fairy ? " 

"No, boy." 

" I saw one 

Laddie is the 
very soul of_ 
truth ( quite 
painfully truth- 
ful in details, so 
that his quiet 
remark caused 

M Tell us about it, dear," 

He described it with as little emotion as if 
it were a Persian cat. Perhaps his perfect fait If 
had indeed opened something to his vision. 

" It was in the day nursery. There was a 
chair by the window. The fairy jumped on 
the chair and then down, and went across the 

" What was it dressed like ? " 

" AJI in grey, with a long cloak. It was about 
as big as Baby's doll, I could not see its arms, 
for they were under the cloak/' 

14 Did -he look at you ? " 

d * No, he was sideways, and I never really 
saw his face. He had a little cap. That's the 
only fairy I ever saw, Of course, there was 
Father Christmas, if you call him a fairy." 
- " Daddy, was Father Christmas killed in the 
war ? " 

" No. boy/ 1 

" Because he has never come since the war 


began* T expect he is fightin' the Jannans/' 
It was Dimples who was talking. 

* + Last time be came." said Laddie, ,- Daddy 
said one of his reindeers had hurt its leg in the 
ruts of the Monkstown Lane. Perhaps that's 
why he never comes/' 

11 He'll come all right after the war," said 
Daddy. " and he'll be redder and whiter and 
jollier than ever." Then Daddy clouded sud- 
denly, for he thought of all those who would be 
missing when Father Christmas came again, 
Ten loved ones were dead from that one house- 
hold , The Lady put out her hand, for she 
always knew what Daddy was thinking. 
" They will be there in spirit, dear," 
M Yes, and the jolliest of the lot/ 1 said Daddy, 
stoutly- " We'll have our Father Christmas 
back and all will be well in England." 

* - But what do they do in India ? " asked 

"IMiy, what's 
wrong with 
them ? " 

" How do the 
sledge and the 
reindeer get 
across the sea ? 
All the parcels 
must get wet/' 

" Yes, dear, 
there have been 
several com- 
plaints/' said 
Daddy, gravely. 
" Halloa, here's 
Frances! Time's 
up! Off to 

They got up 
resignedly, for 
they were really 
"very good child- 
ren. "Say your 
prayers here before you go/' said the Lady, 
The three little figures all knelt on the rug, 
Baby still cuddling her Wriggly, 

" You pray, Laddie, and the rest can join in." 
" God bless everyone I love." said the high, 
clear child -voice. "And make me a good boy. 
and thank You so much for all the blessings of 
to-day. And please take care of Alley ne, who 
U fighting the Germans, and Uncle Cosmo, who 
is fighting the Germans, and Uncle Woodie, 
who is fighting the Germans, and ail the others 
who are righting the Germans, and the men on 
the ships on the sea, and Grandma and Grandpa, 
and Mary and Uncle Pat, and don't ever let 
Daddy and Mumty die. That's all." 

" And please send plenty lugur for the poor 
people/' said Baby, in her unexpected way. 

" And a little petrol for Daddy . Ji said 

** Amen I Ji said Daddy. And the little figures 
rose for the good -night kiss, 

by Google 

Original from 

The Girl in the Villa. 



Illustrated \>y Balliol Salmon. 

ANDOLFH stopped. 

The path ran through a thicket 
of young trees* The spring 
ioliagc was beginning to appear. 
The bushes were close together 
and the path was enclosed almost 
Si as with a hedge. 

The sound that had caught 
his ear was now unmistakable. It was the 
sound of someone in distress someone crying 
softly, just beyond him. There was a musical 
quality in the voice that made it an illusion 
of this fairy woodland. It was not the voice 
of any peasant woman of the Jura, The wood 
was full of birds. 

Beyond, above the green meadows, in the sun 
of the early springtime, the Jarks sang. Their 
notes descended, giving Randolph the sense of 
an invisible chorus. The man remained un- 
moving. The voice was quite close beside the 
path, but it seemed unreal. 

For 3y month he had been fitting idle in 
Geneva. The great mountains had not drawn 
him, but this exquisite valley of the Jura was -a 
country of interminable charm. Almost every 
afternoon he had tramped to Ferney along the 
high road, and returned across the meadows 
through this patch of woodland. The soft, green 
valley swimming in the sunlight, surrounded 
with the snow-covered wall of the jura, was in 
itself an illusion. The wood of small timber ran, 
a narrow strip, through the length of the meadows 
touching the highway to the west toward Ferney, 
where a comer of it continued to the ridge beyond 

As Randolph listened the voice seemed to 
change its position. 

It moved parallel to the path, but too far in 
the wood to be seen. He no longer heard the 
voice, but he could hear distinctly the sound of 
someone moving in the wood. There was a little 
opening a few rods ahead, and as he entered it 
he came suddenly on a girl. She was standing 
quite still like one bewildered. 

Hie man was profoundly astonished. 

The girl was quite young ; she was bareheaded 
and she wore a simple dark-coloured frock which 
Randolph imagined might be the uniform of a 
convent- The girl was startled when she saw 
the man, but she was not afraid, and she came at 
once to him. She spoke to him in French, but 
when he shook his head she said in English, with out 

a certain hesitation as though one were touching 
the keys of an instrument carefully with the 
fingers : — 

" I have lost my way. How does one return 
x*o Geneva ? The paths ♦ Monsieur, do not go 

This was quite true, The paths through the 
wood seemed to have been made with the inten- 
tion of giving one the impression of a considerable 
forest. They were skilfully laid out. One 
might follow them for half a day and never come 
into the open unless one were conscious of their 
secret, Randolph found that out on the first 
afternoon that he undertook to come across from 
Femey, But he Had a sense of direction, and 
an advance of a few hundred feet from the path 
easily put him into the open. 

14 I should be very glad to show you the way/* 
he said, "lam returning to Geneva myself/ 1 

And he struck out through the wood. In a 
few moments they were at the edge of the 
meadowland which extends to the hi Us behind 
Geneva . 

But the girl did not follow him into the open. 

i- Oh f Monsieur/* she said, "I cannot go 
this way. I shall be seen." 

Randolph came back, and the girl made a little 

N I have run away." she said, " and I must get 
back unobserved ; is that the right word ? " 

Randolph laughed. 

" That's precisely the right word," he said* 
11 We can follow the wood to the highway 
yonder, cross it r and continue in it to the top of 
the hill/' 

The man now had a clue to the riddle. The 
girl belonged to some school ; some convent, 
perhaps, There wore any quantities of great 
villas protected by walls on the hill behind 
Geneva. No doubt some of these were schools 
for young ladies — he did not know — they might 
be anything. At any rate, the walls and the 
high, spear-pointed iron fences would have to 
be escaped from if one got out without the will 
of the gate-keeper. 

He found the path and the two of them went 
through the wood to where the highway divides 
it on the road to Ferney, He stopped on the edge 
of the wood and spoke to his companion. 

" Shall we t\\p ;\qv:-* ? " he s;iid T 

The girl, fait her hand nn. his arm and looked 
tirB^fiHtMd foW braricnfe.^Wthe trees. 




leaned forward, parting the branches carefully. 
Then suddenly she screamed and sprang back. 

" Oh, Monsieur," she said, " there was a snake 
just there in the foliage.'/ 

Randolph looked for the snake, parting the 
leaves with his walking-stick, but he could not 
find it. The girl was frightened, but she was not 
a person of feeble courage. 

" Let us run across now," she said.* 

They went a little farther down the path and 
were about to come out into the road when again 
the girl stopped and caught his arm. 

A man was passing just beyond them on the 
way to Geneva. He was a tall old man, dressed 
like an Englishman, but the clothing alone was 
English. The man evidently belonged to some 
race of Western Europe and he walked with an 
even, precise, military step. 

The girl made some exclamation in a language 
which Randolph did not understand, but he got 
the impression that this man had something to • 
do with the school from which she had run away, 
or at least was known to her, and a person whom 
she had some reason to fear. The man was 
singing as he walked, some light aria of an opera. 
The voice and the queer lilt of the song impressed 
Randolph. He was to hear it again. 

When the man was out of sight, Randolph 
and the girl crossed the road and, keeping within 
the cover of the wood, ascended the long slope 
of the hill. Here they came out into an old 
abandoned road almost arched over with a for- 
gotten hedge. The girl now led the way. They 
went down this road, which crossed the crest of 
the ridge. The road ended before a big iron 
gate. It was a huge gate made of spear-headed 
iron spikes that curved inward. It was locked 
with a padlock and it was set in a high wall. The 
gate was very old. It was encrusted with rust. 

" I will show you how I got out, Monsieur," 
she said. 

The head of one of the long, spear-pointed iron 
rods had rusted off and she was able to move it. 
It left a narrow opening. The girl slipped through 
and pulled the spike back into place. She smiled. 

" Good-bye, Monsieur ? " 

" Randolph," he said. 

" Good-bye, Monsieur Randolph," she re- 

" Oh, no," he said, " it is not good-bye ; you 
will run away from school again." 

Her eyes widened at the word. 

" This is not a school," she said. 

" Not a school ? " the man echoed. 

" No," she said, " it's not a school. It is — it 
is a prison," and then she ran away swiftly, like a 
wild thing. 

Randolph remained standing in the abandoned 
road before the ancient iron gate. Then finally 
he began to look for some way to return to 
Geneva. He finally found a way through a hedge 
which came out on the great road that goes 
along the crest of the hill. To his surprise this 
road passed in front of the grounds into which 
the girl had entered. The heavy wall continued, 
and there was in this wall, opening on the road, 
another of those enormous iron gates. 

As he approached, a man came out of this gate. 

He turned about and looked, then he passed on 
down the road towards Geneva. He was a heavy 
young man with big shoulders. His clothes 
were foreign with an exaggerated cut at the 
waist, but there seemed' something racially 
familiar in spite of the disguise. Randolph got 
only a glimpse of the face as the man came out, * 
but he thought it wasjthe most villainous human 
face that he had ever seen in the world. 

The man, before Randolph on the road, got a 
tram at the foot of the hill. Randolph continued 
on foot to his hotel. He was profoundly puzzled. 
But he felt that it was a matter about which he 
could not inquire. 

The only inquiry which he ventured to make 
did not help him. 

He asked the concierge what prison was located 
on the face of the hills, above Geneva, in the 
direction from wliich he had descended. The 
two- franc tip accompanying the inquiry brought 
a detailed explanation. There was, of course, no 
prison in that beautiful, residential portion of 
Geneva. It contained only the villas of the great 
families in Europe. The concierge named them 
as one would recite a page of the Almanac de 
Gotha. Some were to let, some of the oldest, 
the very finest villas of royalty, especially the 
nobility of Russia now that it was exiled and in 
need ot funds. But i Monsieur wished to con- 
sider one of them — he would bring the agent, and 
so forth. 

Randolph finally escaped to his room looking 
out over Lake Leraan, always beautiful, but now 
like a fairy picture with the great stone-boats 
descending with their coloured, two-pointed sails. 
Randolph sat down at the window, his elbows on 
the sill, his chin in his hands, and looked out on 
the fairy lake glimmering in the sun and the 
looming tip of the white mountains in the 

So it was not a school and it was not a prison. 

What was it ? Who was the aged foreigner in 
the English clothes on the road from Ferney, 
and who was the villainous beast of a man who 
had come out of the locked gate ? And who was 
the girl ? He began to think about the girl and 
he laughed softly. 

It was all too ridiculous. 

He was supposed to be sitting here in Geneva 
nursing a broken heart. Everybody had ex- 
pected him to marry Edith Marshall. It was 
the sort of marriage that was precisely proper. 
Their lands adjoined ; they had grown up 
together and the alliance had been taken for 
granted. He had taken it for granted. When 
the girl a little later announced her engagement 
to another man he had left for this tour of the 

According to the gossips he must have a 
broken heart ! 

He was disappointed, for the marriage was a 
thing which he had always considered as in a 
way settled, and he was very fond of Edith 
Marshall. He sat there for a long time trying to 
analyze his queer state of mind. He could 
remember very calmly how his old friend had 
looked, on occasion. She was always very well 
dress^j^^^^^^that would not 






escape attention. He could remember details 
without emotion. 

But here was an experience entirely new. 

He could not recall the hair, the eyes, the 
delicate mouth, the gestures, the precise intona- 
tion of the words of this girl without some. 
quietening of the blood. There was an inde- 
scribable charm about her. The very mystery 
seemed to add to this charm. : " 

He had found her following the pathways of 
adventure ! 

That night at dinner he got a little light on an 
element of the affair. The man whom he had 
seen return from Ferney was in the dining-room. 
He had changed to evening clothes, but Ran- 
dolph could not be mistaken in the face. He 
had only to go to the concierge with another tip 
for the man's history. It was the Austrian 
Baron Rida. He had only the title. The war 
had swept everything else out, but he seemed to 
be engaged in something that brought him in 
a revenue. Some trade, some business, some 
devilry— the concierge put out his hands — one 
did not know. Nobility was in all sorts of 
ventures ^nowadays. 

So the schoolmaster and the prison-director 
theory had to be abandoned. 

Randolph kept the man under hut eye and he 
was rewarded with something lurther. The 
Baton walked in the garden before the hotel after 
Sis dinner bareheaded with a cigarette, and 
praently thg big .young man whom Randolph had 
seen come out of the gate Joined him. He was 
nofe in evening dTess. He wore the same exag- 
gerated foreign- clothes, but that something 
racially familiar seemed now more conspicuous. 
They appeared to be taking up some unended 

But they were too distant for Randolph 
to hear any word, or even to discover the 
language. The younger man seemed to insist 
on something and the Baron to deny . it, 
to evade it, to put it off. It was amazing how 
the intent of the conversation seemed to reach 
Randolph, although he could hear no word. He 
was perfectly certain that the young man was 
determinedly insisting on something and that 
the Baron was frying to turn this intention aside. 
But it seemed to Randolph that the aged man 
would not succeed ; that he weakened, that 
whatever the matter was, in the end he would 
consent to it. The controversy went on until 
the men had passed out of view in the 'garden 
of the hotel. 

Randolph returned to his room and his position 
at the window, with his chin in his hands. 

This controversy surely was somehow related 
to the girl. And suddenly the veins in his body 
stretched with heat, He could see the face of 
the young man better. He had close-cropped, 
bristling black hair, shaggy eyebrows, a thick 
nose, and a heavy jaw ; a determined, dangerous 
beast, Randolph thought. 

What did he want ? What did the. whole 
inexplicable tangle mean ? 

Then for a week nothing happened. The 
statement is hardly accurate, for suddenly 
Randolph had a consuming interest in life. Hi* 

walks were now on the summit of the hill behind 
Geneva. He knew every* detail of the wall 
around the grounds of the villa on the old aban- 
doned road. He was somewhere on the slope of 
that hill every afternoon, and there was always 
some part of the wall of the villa under his eye ; 
but he did not see the girl. 

One day as he walked in the abandoned road a 
woman suddenly appeared before the gate and 
looked at him. Sheiiad the heavy, squat figure 
of a peasant. Her shoulders were a little humped. 
She stood without a. sound * and regarded him 
intently. Randolph continued * along the toad 
as though he were one of the innumerable curious 
visitors to be found ih any foreign city, and the 
woman did not sp^tk to him although she 
continued to look at him. 

The next morning he was crossing the bridge 
over the Rhone. He-, had discovered that he 
could see a part of the villa from a point on the 
opposite shore of the lake. Midway across the 
bridge someone, coming* up behind him, spoke. 
He turned about to find himself in the presence 
of the woman whom he had seen before the gate 
of the villa. The woman at once saw that he 
did not catch- the meaning of her words. She 
seemed greatly perplexed. She went on speaking 
rapidly and gesticulating with her hands. 

There was something which she wished to 
say to himand he did not understand it ! 

She walked along beside him, across the 
Rhone. She seemed to refuse to believe that he 
did not understand, and she appeared undecided 
about what she ought to do. She started to 
return, then she stopped <; finally she came back, 
took him by the arm, and led him into a little 
sho£. She spoke to the shopkeeper. 

The man had a few words of English and he 
was able to- make Randolph understand. " Some- 
one wanted to see him, but there seemed to be a 
good dfcal of difficulty about the place and the 
place was important. There was not to be any 
mistake about it. Finally the little shopkeeper 
made him understand it was a place toward 
Ferney ; it was a place to which he had been ; 
a place where he had met someone before ; a 
first time by accident. The date for the meeting 
was easy ; the shopkeeper showed it to him on 
the dial of the clock. 

At three Randolph was in the wood of the 
valley of the Jura. He had taken some precau- 
tions about it, for such precautions seemed to be 
urged in the*message which he could only receive 
in fragmentary detail. He went out to. Ferney 
on the tram, made a ditour around the Chateau, 
across the fields, and entered the wood from the 
direction of the Jura. . 

He was early, but the girl was already in the 
path when he arrived. 

He could see her from some distance through 
the leaves, and he found his heart racing, his 
blood quickened, every sense" alert. She came 
toward him when he approached and put out her 
hands. And the man could not escape from the 
illusion that he had come on some sylvan creatur* 
of the wood. She woretfhe same simple, sever* 
frock as of the uniform of a convent, but no 
severity oi; costume could* mar the exquisite 



beauty of the girl. The very plainness of it 
seemed to enhance that beauty. 

" My friend," she said, " I have a thing to tell 
you. Let us sit down somewhere." 

The French border touched the edge of this 
wood, and Randolph remembered that there 
was a little shelter which the Swiss guards had 
made. It was a shed of planted twigs opening 
to the south. There was a seat of the same 
planted twigs covered with dry leaves. He knew 
the path to it. 

And he kept hold of the girl's hand as though 
to guide her, but it was not a sense of guiding 
her that induced the act. It was the fear 
that he might lose her, that she might escape 
from him. 

In the last week he had always a haunting sense 
of loss. He seemed to have discovered this girl 
on the highways of adventure like the Arabian 
Prince in the fabled story, who, cracking a roc's 
egg, found a woman sleeping within it. 

They sat together in the little shelter which 
the Swiss guards had raised against the wind. 

The whole valley was awash in sunlight, in- 
numerable larks were at their invisible chorus, 
but to Randolph it might all have been walled 
out and silent. He saw only the girl who 
trembled a little beside him and heard only her 
voice labouring with the precise English words, 
hurriedly, in the long explanation. She seemed 
far away and unreal, but the hand that he held, 
that he kept desperately in his own, bridged a 
way. It seemed to bridge the way to everything 
that remained worth while in the world. Outside 
of it, there was nothing worth a thought, worth 
th$ labour of a motion. And he listened to what 
the girl said, tense, with every instinct alert.* 

She was in danger, in very great danger, and 
she must get away ; she must escape. She had 
it all planned. The old nurse, whom he had 
seen, who had come to him, had thought the 
matter out. She would get into France ; the 
two would go as peasants. There was a cart 
and every arrangement made. But she could 
not take anything and there were some things 
which she must have. They could get into Paris 
in this way, but they would have absolutely 
nothing there. They would not be safe in 
Europe. They wanted to go to England. 

She hurried with this part of the story, and 
when Randolph tried to reply she stopped him. 
She knew what he was going to say. But she 
could not permit it, she would not permit it. 
They could not take anything from him ; besides, 
she had enough if it were sold to make them 

Then she hesitated. 

He must not ask who she was, just now, but 
she was a person connected with the destiny of a 
country ; she had been smuggled out of the 
country and kept here. It was all the doing of 
the Baron Rida and other conspirators of the 
country she belonged to. They considered her 
a dangerous element to the new Government. 
She must be got rid of — not murder — she did 
not mean that, but got rid of by a marriage that 
would make her impossible. That was the plan. 
He had seen the man with the Baron Rida— a 

hideous person, but a Prince in a little Balkan 
kingdom. This was the thing that she must 
escape from now, at once ! 

Immediately the whole mystery cleared. 

Randolph understood now what the Baron 
Rida had to do with it ; the girl's fear of him ; 
this heated controversy that seemed to go on 
between the Baron and the young man whom he 
had seen come out of the gate to the villa. 

Again he tried to interrupt the girl, but she 
went on ; she would not listen to him. But she 
found herself embarrassed when she undertook 
to explain what it was that she expected to sell 
in Paris ; what it was from which she would get 
the money to take her to England. It was all 
very valuable. It would bring a very large sum 
of money, but she could not take it with her. 
She hesitated. 

" I don't know how to tell you, my friend I " 

She paused and her colour deepened. 

" I must appear an ordinary person outside ; 
but underneath they permit me to be what I am." 

Then swiftly she put up her hand to her 
throat, undid the buttons of her blouse, and 
turned to Randolph. 

He saw a film of exquisite lace — lace made by 
spiders — unequalled, priceless. The tips of her 
decided finders held it out toward him, spreading 
the minute ffbshes of the lace, and he saw a crown 
worked delicately in purple. 

The girl stammered like one determined to get 
through with an explanation at any cost. 

11 It's aH like that— all— aU over I " 

She continued breathlessly. 

" And I have a great deal of it. It is the finest 
lace in the world. It could be sold in Paris, and 
I would have a little fortune. But I cannot take 
it. We must go as peasants, and peasants could 
not have a bundle of this sort." 

To Randolph the girl seemed shimmering in a 
nimbus. He could not, for his life, fix her with 
things real. She came forth from haze, from 
shadow, like those fairy women drawn by 
painters to represent what the heart of man 
eternally longs for. .. 

She went on hurriedly, a little incoherent : — 

" I thought perhaps you would help me. 
Perhaps you would take these things for me and — 
and in Paris I could sell them to a shop. Old 
Marta will bring them to your hotel." 

The girl, straight, slim, lithe and beautiful as 
a naiad, her cloudy hair banked around her face, 
belonged to sacred groves — to ancient sequestered 
places — one of those alluring, mysterious fairy 
women of which the fable in every tongue 

And the man seemed enveloped by the sorcer 
of this illusion. For a moment he did not mov 
and he remained silent. Then he got slowly t 
his .feet. He carried the hand imprisoned in hi 
fingers to his lips ; he pressed it, crushed ix 
against his mouth. 

" I love you 1 " he said ; " I love you — Ilov< 
you I " 

As though these words were an answer ; an 
answer in every way ; in every direction. 

The eirl stood up also, her eyes wide, her lips 
parted/NIYtKbl I YVY WILntoflPT 



"No, no/' she 
said, " you must 
not ; it is impos- 
sible. You don't 

understand 1 " 

Randolph put up 
hid free hand and 
brushed away some* 
thing that seemed 
to cling to Ma face, 
although he would 
get a steadier 

" I shall take you 
away, " he said; 
" nothing shali hurt 
you — you shall go 
with me." 

A vague terror 
spread over the 
girl's face. 

"Oh, no, no/* she 
cried; "they would 
till you 1 M 

The man released 
her hand and stood 
out a step beyond 
her in the evening 

* Kill me ! " he 
repeated, as though 
the suggestion were 
something incon- 
ceivably absurd ; as 
though he possessed 
some divine im - 
munity from danger 
and the strength of 
the immortals. And 
in truth there were 
physical evidences 
for this belief. The 
man was hardened 
by rain and sun. 
He looked like a 
bronze iorm from 
some forgotten 
foundry by the Arns. 
He was big and 
young, but the per- 
fect proportions of 
his body dispelled the impression of hulk. 

The girl looked at him for a moment in a sort 
of wonder. Then her eyes filled, and her voice 
hesitated and faltered. 

" Oh, my friend/' she said, "you do not 
understand— please do — only—on J y what I ask/ 1 

The man, in his determined posture, seemed to 

H 1 will take what you send/ J he said, " if you 
will see me again for a moment, somewhere 

A voice interrupted them, a voice singing the 
light aria of an opera. The voice was advancing 
on the path toward the shelter of the Swiss 
guards in which they had been sit ting < Ran- 
dolph turned, waiting with his arms folded for 
the singer to appear; his face like metal, his 




eyes steady under narrowed lids. But the 
singer did not come into the open, at the turn of 
the path he plunged into the wood. Randolph' 
was not conscious of a sound beside him while 
the menace threatened, but when he turned the 
girl had vanished ; he caught a glimpse of her 
slim figure in the fringe of wood toward Geneva. 

He returned slowly to the city Like a man 
walking in a dream. He went up to his room in 
the hotel and sat down again in the old posture 
of reflection : his elbows on the window-sill, 
his chin propped up by his clenched hand* The 
man's face retained its firm cast ; the jaw Jean 
ami hard, its contour outlined as with a i hiaeL 

He had pone headlong into an amazing ad- 
venture* The intrigue of an Empire now in* 
volvfcJiflhi^ primitive 

4 6 


emotions struggled to their feet. All at once he 
had become a factor in great affairs* But thq, 
huge, dormant emotions had not awaked at this 
call. They moved under a simpler stimulus. 
This girl was in danger, the direct danger that 
could menace a woman — and he loved her I 
Loved her ! 

How far below this thing lay the old admiration 
for Edith Marshall ! How far below it lay the 
mere pleasure in a woman's companionship, the 
mere sense of being pleased with her ! These 
things were idle impressions. But this new 
thing was a dynamic force,' like the energy that 
turned the earth on its axis. For it seemed to 
Randolph that this girl was a part of him, a part 
of every nerve, every blood drop, every fragment 
of his flesh ; and at the door of life, by some divine 
surgery, she had been dissected out of his body. 
And this love — vague, inadequate word — this 
love, was the wild, urgent, overpowering cry of 
elements, torn asunder at the beginning of things 
to be rejoined. 

' The pressure of the whole mysterious affair 
seemed against him like a moving shoulder. 
Some authority behind the machinery of the 
world, acting on a design inscrutable, had brought 
him to this girl ; and therefore — he reasoned 
like every lover — by the grant of that authority 
she belonged to him. 

He thrilled under the proprietary word. 

And this beast — the picture of the big evil- 
faced young man, turning in at the gate to the 
villa ; appeared vividly before him u* the frame 
of the window — this beast ! 

Randolph drew in his breath through the set 
teeth until his whole body lilted with the pressure. 

At this moment someone knocked on the 
door. Evening was descending. The twilight of 
the Swiss mountains was on Lake Leman. It 
entered the room like sunlight behind a sapphire 
window. The knocking continued. Randolph 
finally rose and opened the door. 

The old peasant woman entered with a laundry 
basket. The basket was big and heavy. She put 
it down and handed Randolph a bit of crumpled 
paper concealed in her hand. Then she went 
out and closed the door behind her. Randolph 
unrolled the paper by the window. There were 
a few words in English written delicately. 

" Come to the plane-tree by the villa wall at 

Instantly the man changed. Energy appeared 
behind his determined face. Some plan, hereto- 
fore lacking a vital element, was now complete. 
He took his hat and went out of the hotel. 

After dinner Randolph paid his bill, then he 
went to his room to prepare for his journey. He 
had arranged to send his heavy luggage to Paris 
by grande vitesse, but for the others he had pur- 
chased a big leather bag. He got the. trunk 
ready and turned it over to the concierge. Then 
he locked the door, opened the leather bag, and 
carried the big laundry basket into the middle 
of the room beside it. 

He removed the coarse bath-towel tucked in 

carefully over the top of the basket and lifted 

out its contents. There were package after 

-ackage of neatly folded articles, all of that 

exquisite priceless lace which he had seen for a 
moment on the girl's bosom; everything for 
the elaborate trousseau of a fairy empress. For 
surely only fairy fingers could have woven stuff 
like this. 

He stood over the heaps of lace fascinated by 
its beauty." 

He looked for the tiny crown worked in purple 
silk, but he found it only on the first bit of • 
lingerie at the top of the basket. And it occurred 
to Randolph that it had been removed from the 
others for safety, but left on this single piece for 
him. He took up the dainty elaborate thing and 
pressed it to his lips. 

And Nature, that great enchantress, that subtle 
guardian of life, that divine fakir, squatting on 
her carpet in the sun, tempted him with pictures 
of vivid, intoxicating detail ; whispered and 
suggested, stretching her lures, cunning as a 
spider, across the doorposts of every sense. 

Then, as with a mad energy, he tumbled the 
whole mass of laces into the bag ; put in some 
articles of his own and strapped the bag together. 

At eleven he left the hotel for the railway 
station, the bag beside him in the carriage. But 
it was not by train that he intended to go to 
Paris on this night. He took the hag into the 
station at one door and brought it out at another. 
A big limousine motor waited at this entrance, 
as he had arranged, to travel all night, for two 
hundred francs paid down in gold at the Garage 
de Swiss by the Rhone bridge. 

He gave a direction to the driver, got in with 
the bag, and drew the curtains. The motor took 
the road over the ridge toward Ferney. On the 
other side it turned sharp to the right and crept 
carefully through narrow ways to the end of the 
abandoned road leading to the mysterious villa. 

Randolph got out. He knew where the plane- 
tree stood ; minutely he knew every foot of the 
wall. The tree was beyond the iron gate where 
the old road was open to the sky. And now a 
great wheel of a moon illuminated it. It was 
filled with white light, vivid, as under a fairy sun. 
But the wall was in shadow appearing blacker 
by the contrast. 

There was a crook in the bole of the tree 
where it writhed out of the masonry, and by 
standing on this Randolph was entirely hidden 
and his head was only a little way below the top 
of the wall. The road behind him was as light 
as day, but under the foliage and vines the top 
of the wall was like the pit. He could not see 
anything. It was as though he looked into a 

For some moments after Randolph stepped uj 
into this darkness there was no sound. Ther 
something moved on the top of the wall in thr 
darkness above him, and he felt two hand 
feeling gently for his face. They found it anci 
lifted it a little ; the soft palms and the moving 
fingers carried the subtleties of a caress. 

He did not move, and a voice, broken, 
unsteady, whispered above him. 

" Oh, my friend," it said. " Go away, go 
away quickly, Leave fthe basket, as it is, at the 
hotel — old Marts will brinp it away. Do not 
touch it — have nothing to do with it I " 



» • ■■ 



And as the voice went on something like a drop 
of rain fell on the man's face i another, and 

" How could I know it would be yon/' the thin, 
sobbing voice whispered. ** I knew it would 
be someone, but oh, uh, how con Id I know it 
would be you f '* 

The soft hands fingered about the man's face* 
Then the voice went on a little closer to him, 

11 Go away, go away quickly, now, to-night/* 
Then the tense voice seemed to stutter. f * But 
oh ! my — my friend ; you will not forget me ? 
Wherever you go, whatever you do, you will 
not forget me ? You will keep me in your 
heart, always, for ever ? — say it — whisper it 
to me/' 

The man's face was wet, He had not moved 
and he had not uttered a sound. Now suddenly 
with a swift motion he put up his hands and 
lift© ar of the wall S'.ie ;aiH 3 own 

with a cry into his arms. 

"Oh, God help us! M 

It was an invocation to the immensity beyond 
our wills. 

But it was a prayer, it seemed* not like 
be answered. 

As Randolph stepped down into the light he 
saw the big, evil-featured young man. He stood 
just below in the road. Instantly, with an oath, 
Qgely like the language of the Bowery t the 
creature charged, his head crouched, his fists 

Randolph put the girl down and turned back. 
Thr big young man in the momentum of his rush 
got the surprise of a lifetime. Something like 
the swift, clean Impact of a driving-rod landed 
against his chest ; it lifted him on to the tips of 
Ins toes, turned him round two or three times, 
and pitched him over against the wall, He 
staggered, patting out his hands to suppor 
himself ; his hack to the wall, his contorted face 
toward i^i]C,aip]i, Xh<.ii he hf^nn to curse, and 

4 8 


among the oaths the American-English of the 
Bowery tough was unmistakable. 

11 Why, damn — damn — you ! You're just a 
goat. The bunch picked you up for a sucker ; 
they're lace smugglers. They wanted* you to 
carry the stuff across the line ! " 

He spat violently as though ejecting something 
viscous in his mouth. 

" It was a deuce of a nice little arrangement. 
But there was a joker in it — the joker was me." 
I'm a-goin' to pull the thing off. I'm a-goin* to 
make it come true. The old Dago's a crook, 
but the girl's on the level and I'm going to have 

He tried the rush again, and he got precisely 
the same result ; except that this time the impact 
of the driving-rod was squarely on the angle of 
the jaw and it came with ail the weight of Ran- 
dolph's body behind it. 

The big young man seemed to slide gently 
down the long slope of the road. He turned 
gently over, and remained, as in a careless pos- 
ture of fatigue, motionless. 

The girl had remained where Randolph put 
her down J her arms hanging, her lips parted, 
her hair clouding her face. 

He caught her up, without a word, and crossed, 
with great strides, to the car at the end of the 
road. He gave a direction to the driver, got in, 
and closed the door. -The big limousine slipped 
through the tangle of lanes and raced on the 
great road toward Paris. 

And in the swinging car, in the long night, in 
the darkness, imprisoned in Randolph's arms, 
the girl tried to speak, to whisper, to explain. 
Her uncle, ruined by the war, had drafted herself 
and her fortune into this venture. He had hired 
the American crook and staged the thing here 
in Geneva. The laces were in truth her own since 
they were purchased with her money. She had 
not thought of the wrong in the thing. It seemed 
a sort of lark, a bit of idle comedy. 

But it was a fragmentary and unfinished 

The girl's mouth was requisitioned to another 



Now is the former ; half a year 
Mast pass, and latter will be here. 

1. The gun and proverb seem to state 
That something should be very great. 

2. Of anagram of knight and gum 
Headless let modern name become* 

3. Take less than half, and with it write : 
What is required is now in sight. 

4. In two directions he is found : 
The demonstration must be sound. 

5. Divide the glass, put this between 
The pieces and a girl is seen. 

6. What may be yours or his is changed 
To mine by being rearranged. 

7. Her diet would suggestive seem 

Of Eastern race and English stream. 

8. Take two from one. and four remain. 
A palindrome beooming plain. 

9. He tells us what the world may think. 
And is not unconcerned with drink. 

Answers to Acrostic No. 48 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on July 9th. 

Ttco answers may be sent to every light. 

With their answers to this acrostic, solvers must send ahi 
their real names and addresses. 

Answer to No. 46. 

1. B ournemout H 

2. L en t and O 

3. E nd U 

4. A oguflti 8 
6. K nav E 

Noras. — Light 1. Contains Nemo, nobody, 
is fast time ; lentando, becoming slow. 3. 
4. Augustus Csb ar, August. 

2. L«*nt 

Answer to No. 

P e p pe 
E sp 

N inn 

X i r v a n 
Y el 




Notes,— Proem. Pennyroyal is a species of Mint. 
Light 1. Pepper's ghost. 2. Espouse. 3. A Midsummer 
Nujhfi Dream, iiu, 1. Light 4. Sanskrit, » blowing oat. 
5. Shetland isks*. 




Illustrated by H. % M. Batemaru 


HE blow fell without warning, 
and a typewritten : notice in- 
formed the Poet that the Cabinet 
Committee on Accommodation • 
required the tiny, threadbare 
chambers in Stafford's Inn, 
where he had lived unobtru- 
sively for seven happy, in- 
solvent years. 

" ' There was no worth in the fashion ; there 
was no wit in the plan, 1 " murmured the Poet. 
The rooms were too small even for a Deputy- 
Director-General, and he knew that not one of 
the silk-stockinged, short-skirted, starling-voiced 
young women, with bare arms and regimental 
badges, who acted as secretaries to Deppty- 
Director-Generals, would consent to walk up 
four flights of creaking, uncarpeted stairs to the 
dusty sparrows' nest on the housetop that was 
his home. 

For a while he scented a vendetta, but — 
deleterious poetry apart — he had injured no 
man, and the personnel of the Cabinet Committee 
was as little known to him as his poetry to tjie 
Cabinet Committee. In general, too, he was the 
object of a certain popularity and pitying regard ; 
the Millionaire sent him presents of superfluous 
game each year, the Iron King invited him at 
short notice to make a fourteenth at dinner, and 
the Official Receiver unloaded six bottles of 
sample port wine when the Poet succumbed to 
his annual bronchitis. Even the notice of 
eviction was politely worded and regretful ; it 
was also uncompromising in spirit, and the Poet 
made his hurried way to four house-agents. No 
sooner had he stated his requirements to be a 
bed-sitting-room (with use of bath) within the 
four-mile radius, than all four agents offered him 
a Tudor manor-house in Westmorland ; further, 
they refused to offer him anything else, but on 
his own initiative he discovered a studio in Glebe 
Place and a service-flat in Victoria Street. 

" I saw in the paper that you'd been turned 
out," said *the Millionaire that night, when the 
Poet trudged home, footsore and fretful, to find 
his chambers occupied by the Iron King, the 
Private Secretary, the Lexicographer, the Military 
Attache, and their friends. 4< What are you 
going to do about it ? " he continued, with the 
VoL lvi — 4* Copyright, 1918, by 

relentlessness of a man who likes a prompt 
decision, even if it be a wrong one. " You know 
nothing about business, I'm sure ; leases, pre- 
miums, insurance, all that sort of thing. You're 
in a hole ; I don't see what more there is to be 

So far the Poet, his mind wavering wearily 
between Glebe Place and Victoria Street, had 
said nothing ; he turned silently to the Iron 
King, wondering how. without being rude, to 
indicate his desire for bed. 

M I saw rather a decent place that might suit 
you," drawled the Private Secretary, smoothing 
a wrinkle out of his shapely silk socks. " It's 
next to my Chief's in Beigrave Square. Of 
course, I don't know what rent they want for 

The Iron King shook his head. 

" He couldn't afford it," he said, speaking 
through and round and over the Poet. " Now 
I'm told that there are some very comfortable 
and cheap boarding-houses near Kensington 
Palace Gardens." 

The Poet drew the cork of a fresh bottle of 
whisky, and collected four unbroken tumblers, 
a pewter mug, and two breakfast cups without 
handles. As so often before, his destiny seemed 
to be slipping out of his controt into the hands 
of the practical, strong- voiced men who filled his 
sitting-room to overflowing and would not let 
him go to bed. The Military Attache knew of a 
maisonnette in Albemarle Street ; the Official 
Receiver had been recently brought into pro- 
fessional contact with a fine Georgian property 
in Buckinghamshire, where they could all meet 
for a week-end game of golf at Stoke Poges. 
Somewhere in Chelsea — not Glebe Place — the 
Lexicographer had seen just the thing, if only 
he could be quite sure about the drains. With 
loud cheerfulness they accepted the Millionaire's 
postulate that the Poet knew nothing of business ; 
unselfishly they placed all their experience and 
preferences at his disposal. 

" Of course, there's the servant problem," 
an undistinguishable voice remarked two hours 
later ; and the Poet, settling to an uneasy sleep 
in his chair, mentally ruled out the Chelsea 

" The ordinary surveyor's no use," broke in 
the Lexicographer, pursuing his own line of 




thought, " What yoa want is a drainage 

" I know these good, honest, middle-aged 
couples/ 1 cried the Iron King, with the bitter- 
ness of an oft-defrauded widower, " The woman 
always drinks, and the man always steals the 
dgars. ,J 

" I have nothing but gas in my place/' said 
the decorous voice of the Private Secretary, 
ip and I have it on pretty good authority that 
there'll be a great coal shortage this winter. I 
don't want that to go any further, though/' 

The Millionaire rose to his feet with a yawn. 

*' He must get an experienced woman -friend 
to help him with things like carpets and cur- 
tains/' he ordained, with mellow benevolence* 

M When my wife comes back from Wales 

How soon do you have to turn out, Poet ? " 

The Poet woke with a start and looked at the 
clock* The time was a quarter to two, and he 
still wanted to go to bed. 

" Ten days/ 1 he murmured, drowsily, 

44 Jove i You haven't much time," said the 
Millionaire. ,( Now, look here ; the one thing 
not to do is to be in a hurry. Any place you take 
now will probably have to serve you for several 
years, and you'll find moving a lot more expen- 
sive than you think. If you can get some kind 



of shake-down for a few days "-rhe turned 
expansively to his friends — ■" we may be able 
to give you a few hints/* 

The Poet became suddenly wakeful and alert. 

" Do I understand that you're offering me a 
bed until you find me permanent quarters ? " 
he inquired, with slow precision. 

" Er — yes/' said the Millionaire, a little 

" Thank you/' answered the Poet, simply. 
44 I say, d'you men mind ii I turn you out now ? 
It's rather late, and I haven't been sleeping 
very well/' 


A week later the Poet walked up Park Lane, 
followed by an elderly man trundling two com- 
pressed cane trunks on a barrow with- a loose 
wheel. It was a radiant summer afternoon, 
and taxis stood idle jn long ranks when they 
were not drawing in to the kerb wjth winning 
gestures. The Poet, however, wished to make 
his arrival dramatic, and it was dramatic enough 
to make the Millionaires butler direct him to 
the tradesmen's entrance, while the Millionaire, 
remembering little but suspecting all, hurried 
away by a side door, leaving a message that he 
was out of England for the duration of the war. 
The lot fell on the Millionaire's wife to invent 
such excuses as would rid the house of the Poet's 
presence before dinner. The Millionaire *s instincts 
were entirely hospitable, hut that night's party 
had been arranged for the entertainment and 
subsequent destruction of four men with money 
to invest and, like the Poet, " no knowledge of 
business, investments, all that sort of thing," 

" No, we have not met before/* explained the 
Poet, coldly and uncompromisingly, abandoning 
the rather gentle voice and caressing manners 
which caused women to invite him to dinner 
when they could think of no one else. " Your 
husband and one or two of our common friends 
have kindly undertaken to find me new quarters, 
and I have been invited to stay here until some- 
thing suitable has been found," 

There was 
silence for a few 
moments, and the 
Millionaire's wife 
looked apprehen- 
sively at the clock, 
while the Poet laid 
the foundations of 
a malignantly sub- 
stantiai tea. 

"H-how far 
have you got at 
present ? " she 
asked/ with an em- 
barrassed laugh, 

" Your husband 
told me to leave it 
to him/' answered 
the Poet, " and 
I've left it to 
hjm. There was 
a general feeling 
that I didn't know 

Original from 



what I wanted— house or flat, north or south of 
the Park, all the rest of it; they said there 
would be a scandal if I employed a young maid, 
I couldn't afford tyro, and an old one would 
pawn my clothes to buy gin. I am quoting your 
husband now; I know nothing of business. 
Everyone agreed, too. that I must have a dram 
of some kind- Would yon say it took long to 
jind a bed-sitting-room with use of bath ? " 
The Millionaire's wife hurriedly pushed back 

her chair. 

" My husband's going abroad for the duration 

take him out to supper afterwards, I can't 
aflord to be disturbed to-night. To-morrow I 
must get in touch with the Iron King. I don't 
see what more there is to be said/' 

Four weeks later the Poet drove Ln a six- 
cylinder car from Park Lane to Eaton Square 
on an Indeterminate visit to the Iron King. 
He was looking better for the month's good wine 
and food, in which the Millionaire's house 
abounded ; but now the Millionaire, who based 
his fortune on knowing the ri^ht people in every 
walk of life, was. axcajigi&g to have his house 


of the war/' she said, in loyal explanation, ' E but 
it's just possible that he hasn't started yet." 

The Millionaire, returning on tip -toe from the 
loft over the garage, had sought asylum in the 
library, where he was smoking a cigar and 
reading the evening paper. As his wife entered 
he looked up with welcoming expectancy, 

" How did you get rid of him ? " he asked, 

The Millionaire's wife pressed her hands to 
her temples. 

11 My dear ! What hats you been promising 
him ? " she .cried. 

The Millionaire swore softly, as the truth sank 
into his brain. 

" Have another place laid for dinner." he 
ordered ; 4 * book two seats for a rhusic-hali and 

by Google 

taken over by the Red Cross authorities, In a 
week's time the house was to be found unsuit- 
able and restored to him, but henceforth the Iron 
King was to have the honour of entertaining 
the Poet. 

*' How you ever came to make such a 
promise ! " wailed the Millionaire's wife, for 
the twentieth time, as they drove to Claridge's. 
M London's so full that you might have known 
it's impossible to get anything/ 1 

" I feel that we have exhausted this subject,** 
answered the Millionaire, with the brusqucness 
of a man whose nerves have worn thin ; with 
the menace, too, of one who, having divorced 
his first wife, would divorce the second on small 

Original from 



The Iron King was not at home when the 
Poet arrived in Eaton Square, but a pretty young 
secretary, cultured to the point of transforming 
all her final " g's " into " k's," received him with 
every mark of welcome. She admired the Iron 
King romantically, and was in the habit of 
writing his surname after her own Christian 
name to see how the combination looked ; and, 
when he had departed each morning to contest 
his latest assessment for excess profits, she would 
wander through the house, planning little changes 
in the arrangement of the furniture and generally 
deploring the sober, colourless Taste of the first 
Iron Queen, So far, her employ»»^e£irned nontj 
of her admiration. He addressed her 1 w,jUj - 
as " Miss — er " and forgot her name ; he never 
noticed what clothes she was wearing or the 
pretty dimples that she made by holding down 
the inside flesh of her cheeks between her eye- 
teeth ; further, he criticized her spelling spite- 
fully, and, on the occasion of the Millionaire's 
second marriage, had dictated a savage half- 
sheet, beginning : "A young rdan may marry 
once, as he may get drunk once, without the 
world thinking much the worse of him ; habitual 
intemperance is, on first principles, to be deplored." 

The pretty young secretary knew from fiction 
and the drama that the Iron King would never 
appreciate her until he stood in danger of losing 
her. She welcomed the Poet as a foil, and mis 
quoted his poetry twice before tea was over ; 
then she invited him to accompany her to a 
picture palace, but the Poet, once inside .the 
citadel, was reluctant to leave it until his position 
was more firmly established. 

Securely entrenched at Clari4ge's, the Million- 
aire telephoned derisively to the City, so that 
the Iron King returned home half an hour before 
his usual time, prepared to deal with the Poet 
as he dealt with querulous or inquisitive share- 
holders at general meetings. The Poet, how- 
ever, was long and painfully accustomed to 
combat with enraged editors, and lost no time 
in assuming the offensive, demanding indignantly 
in a high head- voice, before the Iron King had 
crossed his own threshold, why no quarters had 
been found for him and how much longer 
anyone imagined that he would put up with the 
indignity of being bandied from one wretched 
house to another. 

The flushed cheeks and hysterical manner put 
the Iron King temporarily out of countenance. 

" My dear fellow I " he interrupted, in- 

" I'm not a business man," continued the Poet, 
hotly. " You all of you told me that, and I'm 
disposed to say : ' Thank God, I'm not 1 ' " 

The Iron King put his hat carefully out of 
reach and forced a smile. 

" You mustn't take it like that, old chap," he 
said, soothingly. " I — we — all of us are doing 
our best. Now we won't bother about dressing ; 
let's go straight in and thrash the thing out over 
a bottle of wine." 

Instructing his butler very audibly to open a 
bottle of the 1906 Lanson, he slipped his arm 
through the Poet's and led him, sullenly murmur- 
ing, into the dining-room. With the second 

by Google 

bottle of champagne his guest ceased to be 
aggrieved and became quarrelsome ; when the 
port wine appeared, he had the Iron King cowed 
and broken ia moral. 

" If you find fault with everything, why do 
you come here, why stay here ? " complained 
the Iron King, with a last flickering effort to 
recover his independence. 

" Why don't you find me some other place 
to go to, as you promised ? " the Poet retorted 
as he made his way to the morning-room, and 
sat down to order a month's supply of under- 
clothes from his hosier. 

The Iron i5mg^^__^^^ 

was the best policyari3*^fifia2i£dttiat honesty 
willing to put his cards on the""T&Wtariably 
Millionaire had once professed himself likely 
be satisfied if the Iron King would only remove 
the fifth ace from his sleeve, and a certain 
coolness between the two men resulted. In 
general, however, -he had the reputation of a 
frank, bluff fellow. 

On the morrow of the Poet's arrival he 
remained in bed, and announced in the quaver- 
ing pencil-strokes of a sick man . that he was 
suffering from anthrax, which, he might add, 
was not only painful but infectious. The Poet 
scrawled across one corner of the note that 
anthrax was usually fatal, but that, as he him- 
self had twice had it, he would risk taking it a 
third time in order to be with his friend. There- 
upon the Iron King departed to the City, leaving 
thfc Poet to dictate blank verse to, the pretty 
young secretary, who curled both feet round 
one leg of her chair, told him that she " loved 
his potry more'n anythink she'd ever read," and 
asked how all the hard words like " chrysoprase " 
and " asphodel " were spelt. That night a tele- 
gram arrived shortly before dinner, and the Iron 
King announced that the Ministry of Munitions 
was sending him to America to stabilize iron 

" Why can't you finish one thing before 
starting another ? " demanded the Poet, hector- 
ingly. " You haven't yet found me any quarters, 
and you call yourself a business man. I shall, 
of course, stay on here till your return." 

The Iron King shook his head gravely. 

" That's impossible," he interrupted. " My 
young secretary " 

"You must take h^r with you," answered 
the Poet, obstinately. 

The subject was not pursued, but at bedtime 
the Iron King roundly asked the Poet how much 
he would take to go away. 

" I require a home," answered the Poet, 
frigidly, remembering the weary day spent by 
him in discovering the Glebe Place studio and 
the weary night spent by the Iron King in 
recommending Kensington boarding-houses. " I 
do not want your money." 

" We sha'n't fall out over a pound or two," 
urged the Iron King, with a meaning motion of 
the hand towards his breast-pocket. 

" A thing is either a promise or it is not a 
promise," replied the Poet, as he turned on 

Original from 



his heel, " I know nothing of business, or 
what people are pleased to term ' commercial 
morality/ M 

lour weeks later the Poet left Eaton Square 
for the Private Secretary's rooms in Bury 
Street. He looked thin and anemic after his 
month of privations, for the Iron King, im- 
proving in moral and recapturing something 
of the old strike-breaking spirit, had counter- 
attacked on the third day of the Poet's visit , 
The chauffeur, butler, and two footmen, all of 
military age, had been claimed on successive 
appeals as indispensable, but on their last 
appearance at the Tribunal the Iron King had 
unprotestingly presented them to the Army. 
This he followed by breakfasting in bed, lunch- 
ing in the City, dining at his club, and leaving 
neither instructions nor money for the main* 
tenance of the household. For a time the Poet 
was saved from the greater starvation by the 
care of the pretty young secretary, but without 
an Iron King there was no need for a foil. Sharp 
words were exchanged one morning over the 
propriety of grounds in coffee ; the pretty young 
secretary declared that she would " have nothink 
more to do with him or his old potry M \ and in 
the afternoon he packed his trunks with his own 
hap ds and with his own hands dragged them 
downstairs on to the pavement, leaving the 
pretty young secretary biting viciously at the 
corner of a crumpled handkerchief drenched in 
" White Rose/' 

The Private Secretary received him in a 
manner different from that adopted by either 

the Millionaire or the Iron King. The two men 
were oi nearly the same age, but in a deferential, 
if misspent, life the Private Secretary had 
learned to be non-committal. Well he knew 
that he had but one bedroom ; well he knew 
that, on admitting it, the Poet would claim it 
from him, 

** A spare bed ?■" he echoed, when the Poet 
dragged his trunks into the middle of a tiny 
sitting-room. " Really, I have no statement 
to make/' 

" At least, you will not deny," said the Poet, 
with truculent emphasis, " that you undertook 
to find me suitable accommodation and to supply 
me with a bed until it was found." 

" I must refer you to the reply given to a 
similar question on the twenty-third ultimo/* 
answered the Private Secretary, loftily. For a 
rich reward he could not have said where he 
had been or what he had done on the twenty* 
third ultimo, but to the Poet the reply was new 
and disconcerting. 

" Where's my flat, anyway ? " he pursued, 

" I have no statement to make/' reiterated 
the Private Secretary, 

After an awkward silence, during which 
neither yielded an inch of ground, the Poet 
dragged his trunks destructively downstairs 
and drove to the flat of the Official Receiver. 
Glowing with the consciousness of victory, the 
Private Secretary dressed for dinner and started 
out to his club. His good-humour was impaired, 
when he observed in his hall a pendant triangle 









of wall-paper flapping 
in the draught of the 
open door through 
which the Poet had 
dragged his trunks. 
Farther ou r the paint 
was scarred on the 
stairs, and the carpet 
of the main hall was 
rucked and disordered ; 
there was also a linger- 
ing suggestion of es- 
caping gas, and the 
Private Secretai y ob- 
served a bracket hang- 
ing at a bibulous 

" This," he murmured, through 
grimly-set teeth, " is sheer fright- 

Returning to his rooms, he 
drawled a friendly warning by 
telephone to the Millionaire, 
who instantly gave orders that 
no one of any sex or age was 
to be admitted. Next he called 
up the Iron King and repeated 
the warning ; then the Lexico- 
grapher, the Official Receiver, 
and the Military Attache were 
similarly placed on their guard, 
and there was nothing to do 
but to proceed to his belated 

The Great War, which had converted staff 
officers into popular preachers, novelists into 
strategical experts r and everyone else into a 
Minister of the Crown, had left the Poet (in 
name, at least) a poet and in nothing else any- 
thing at all. He acted precisely as the Private 
Secretary had intended him to act. driving first 
to the Lexicographer's house, where he was 
greeted by a suspiciously new " TO LET" 
board, and thence to the Official Receiver's 
flat, where a typewritten card informed him 
that this bell was out of order. Embarrassed, 
but purposeful, he directed his four- wheeler to 
Eaton Square, but the blinds were down, and a 
semblance of mourning draped the Iron King's 

house,, In Park Lane, a twenty-yard expanse 
of straw, nine inches thick, prayed silence for 
the Millionaire's quicker recovery. 

r ' I don't know where to go to next," mur- 
mured the Poet, dejectedly, 

"Well, I'm blest if I do." grumbled the 
driver, "And it's past my tea-time. Doncher 
know where yer live ? u 

" Years ago I had rooms in Stafford's Inn," 
began the Poet. " Then the Cabinet Com- 
mittee^ " 

The cabman descended from his box for a 
heart-to-heart conversation. 

" Now you look "ere," he said. " I got a boy 
at 'ome the livin' image of you— — " 

"But how nice ! " interrupted the Poet, 
wondering apprehensively whether an invitation 
was on. its way to him. 
The cabman sniffed. 
" Not quite right in 'is 'ead, 'e 
ain't. Therefore I don't want to 
be arsh with yer. Jump inside, 
let me drive yer tcr Stafford's 
Inn, pay me me legal fare ± and a 
bob tcr drink yer 'calth — and we'll 
say no more abaht it. If yer 
don't " — he made a threatening 
gesture towards the Poet's pre- 
cariously-strapped trunks — " I'll 
throw the blinkin' lot on ter 
the pivernent and yer can carry 
'cm 'ome on yer 'cad, See ? M 
" I couldn't, you know," ob- 
jected the Poet; gently. 
" Jump inside/' repeated the 

One hope was as 
forlorn as another, and 
the Poet was too sick 
with hunger to think 
of resistance. In time 
the four-wheeler rum- 
bled its way to Staf- 
ford's Inn ; in time 
and by force of habit 
the Poet was mount- 
ing the bare, creaking 
wooden stairs ; in time 
he found himself fit- 
ting his unsurrendered 
latch - key into his 
abandoned lock. 


T HEjft* i«rr^3ft™aiR A PI* E R— 




Beyond an eight weeks' layer of dust on 
chairs and table, the threadbare rooms were 
little changed, A loaf of bread, green and 
furred with mould, lay beside an empty marma- 
lade pot, from which a cloud of flies emerged 
with angry buzzing ; a breakfast cup without a 
handle completed the furniture of the tableland 
in the rickety arm-chair was an eight- weeks-old 
Morning PosL 

' r The Cabinet Committee has neglected its 
opportunities/* grumbled the Poet, surv eying 
with disfavour the dusty, derelict scene. 

Then his eye was caught by a long envelope, 
thrust half-way under the door, from the Cabinet 
Committee itself. An indecipherable set of 
initials, later describing itself as his obedient 
servant, was directed to inform him, on a date 
two months earlier, that it had been decided 


not to requisition the offices and chambers of 
Stafford's Inn. The formal notice was accordingly 
to be regarded as cancelled, 

The Poet, who knew nothing of business, 
wrote instructing his solicitors to claim for two 
months' disturbance from the Defence of the 
ftealm Commission on Losses and to include all 
legal costs in the claim. 


Three weeks later the Private Secretary was 
strolling across the Horse Guards Parade on his 
way to luncheon, when he caught sight of the 
Poet* Since their last altercation his conscience 
had been as uneasy as a Private Secretary's 
conscience can be, and he strove to avoid the 
meeting. The Poet, however, was full of sun- 
shine and smiles. 

"I've not seen you for weeks I " he cried, 
welcomingly. " How's everybody, and what's 
everybody doing ? Is the Millionaire all right 
again ? I understood he'd been ill." 

The Private Secretary eyed his friend 

" He has not left his house for three weeks;" 
he answered, 

" And the Iron King ? " 

" He has not either/' 

The Poet's eyes bt up with dawning 
com pr ehensio n . 

" What about the Lexicographer and the 
Official Receiver ? " he asked. " The same ? 
What an infernal nuisance 1 I wanted to call 
round and see whether they had got me a 

The Private Secretary shook his head. 

M It's not the least use," he said, emphatically, 
" None o£ them has been outside his front door 
for three weeks ; no one knows when they'll 
come out again, no one Is allowed inside. Last 
night I had a box given me for the theatre, and 
I tried to make up a party ; all their telephones 
were disconnected, and when I drove round in 
person I couldn't even get the bell answered/' 
He paused! and then inquired, carelessly : "By 
the way, have you got into your new quarters 
yet ? They would be interested to know," 

" I haven't got any new quarters/' answered 
the Poet. " You remember that you and the 
others were going tp find them for me. I know 
nothing of business— and I'm not likely to get 
new rooms until I see the Millionaire and the 
Iron King/ 1 

At the steps of his club the Private Secretary 
paused, as though wondering whether to say 
that the Poet was unlikely to see the Iron King 
or the Millionaire until he had got his new 
rooms. This prolonged voluntary self- internment 
was a source of inconvenience, for, in the peaceful 
days before the Cabinet Committee on Accom- 
modation had stepped in, there were pleasant 


parties in Eaton Square and Park Lane- Now 
the Private Secretary was reduced to paying for 
his own dinners more often than was agreeable* 
He said nothing, however, for fear ol concen- 
trating the Poet's fire on himself, 

" It must be simply wrecking their business/' 
said the Poet to himself, as he walked to 
Bedford Row to see how the claim for dis- 
turbance was progressing* "It serves them 
right, though, for talking drains when I wanted 
to go to bed." 

by Google 

Original from 

No Bridge Player should miss this article if he Wants to play a winning game* 


New System of Calling 
at Auction Bridge, 


{Auik&r qf i( Adttamtd Auction Bridge* 7 etc*). 

LL tiie latest text-books on 
the game of auction are practi- 
cally agreed that the minimum 
strength that will justify a free 
bid in a suit is five cards, with 
two sure tricks at the top, or 
four very strong cards, such as 
three top honours P and at ieast an ace -queen suit, 
or two. kings, on the outside. The three standard 
combinations at the head of a suit that are worth 
two sure tricks are given as these : Ace, king, * * * ; 
ate, queen, knave, * * ; king, queen, knave, * *, 
The * indicates any card below the ten. 

This system of bidding got a rude shock when 
it was found that the team that won and still 
holds the championship of the United States 
laughed at it- They did not wait for any such 
strength as thi$ to bid, and had evidently evolved 
some entirely original method of valuing their 
cards. Tins system it is the object of the present 
article to explain, but first a word as to what it 
has accomplished. 

Last summer, auction players from all parts 
of the United States and Canada met at Spring 
Lake. New jersey, at the annual congress of the 
American Whist League, and teams of (our from 
various clubs in Chica^: 


Hartford, and Scrauton met in the finals to play 
sixty deals in duplicate, for the championship. 
The four from the Knickerbocker ^Tiist Club of 
New York won outright with the astonishing 
average of sixty-five points a deal over all com- 
petitors, their total being three thousand seven 
hundred and eighty-five points above average on 
the sixty deals, although all the matches were 
played on the duplicate system, every team 
holding the same cards under the same con- 
ditions against every other team. 

The result was apparently entirely due to 
better bidding, as all the entrants were first -class 
players when it came to getting the tricks. It 
was soon observed that the winners seldom 
overbid a hand, and never stopped bidding until 
they had reached the limit that it was possible 
to make, They seemed to have as accurate an 
idea of how many tricks their hands would 
produce in play, with any declaration, as it they 
were counting up their shillings to see if Lhey 
had enough to make a pound. 

Instead of bidding a certain suit because the 
books say it is the correct declaration with 
such-and-such cards, the modern system, which 
is being rapidly adopted by the best players 
throughout GliqitttiiifrQQnis based upon the 




player's ability to translate any combination of 
cards into the number of tricks i% should win in 
play, on the average ; as a bid, as an assist, or as 
a double ; at any declaration, in any position at 
the table. 

The* bidding is no longer a guess. It is no 
longer parrot -like. It is reduced to a science. 

The fundamental principle of the new system 
lies in the discovery that all high cards are 
worth twice as much to the side that gets the 
winning declaration and plays the . attack as 
they would be in the hands of the side that plays 
on the defensive. 

My attention was first called to this fact by a 
hand that I published in my " Advanced Auction 
Bridge," page 53, seven years ago. Give each 
of the four players at the table exaqtly the same 
cards in a no-trumper ; ace, knave, six,* two of one 
suit ; king, seven, five of another ; queen, eight, 
four of the third; and ten, nine, three of the 
fourth, and it does not matter which player is 

- the declarer (the attacking hand); he will win 
eight or nine of the thirteen tricks, or twice 
as many as his opponents, who are on the 

It took a long time to develop this idea into an 
harmonious system and test it ; but after running 
it through two thousand of the ten thousand 
recorded deals that I have on file for testing 
purposes, I can guarantee that it is sound — that 
is, that it will beat averages ; and I have allowed 
it to emerge^ easily and naturally from one 
hundred and thirty deals from important du- 
plicate matches in my forthcoming book, " Foster 
on Auction," of which the following is a synopsis. 

There are four parts of the bidding which 
require special attention : (i) The original, or 
lree bid ; (2) the assist ; (3) the denial or 
take-out ; and (4) the defence. These are easily 
handled in either class of declarations, trumps or 
no trumps. The following principles cover 
everything, and should enable any person of 
ordinary intelligence to bid any hand to its exact 

Certain combinations of cards have a definite 
average value as trick-winners, according to the 
declaration, and these values, when added to- 
gether, give the average playing value of the 
whole hand. The hand may produce more than 
its value upon occasion, and again it may fall 

- ^short ; but the idea is that it will beat averages. 

No bid will win all the time, any more than bad 
bidding loses all the time. 

There are thirteen tricks to be played for in 
every hand, and the lowest bid allowed under- 
takes to win seven of them. If the dealer has 
more than his share, which would be four or 
more, he should be able to make a bid of some 
kind, unless the distribution is unfavourable, such 
as insufficient length in the major suits. If he 
has four, there are nine to be distributed among 
the three other players, one of whom is the dealers 
partner. Add his three to the dealer's four and 
we get the seven required to carry out the 

In order to bid on four tricks, one must know 
what constitutes four tricks, and must have 
confidence that the valuation will hold in the 

majority of cases. Sometimes what counts four* 
will be worth two or three only ; sometimes five 
or six. All modern bidding is based on averages. 
There are no longer any such things as sure 

Every free, bid, and every assist, presupposes 
that the bidder's side will get the contract. 
The side that hopes to play the hand counts each 
guarded ace as worth two tricks, and each guarded 
king as worth one. Queens, knaves, and tens are 
worth nothing except in combination with other 
honours. The following table shows the values of 
the various high-card. combinations when held 
by the attacking hands :— 

Ace, king, queen, knave, Ace, king, queen, ten, 

. Ace, king, knave, ten, are each worth five ; Ace, 

. king, Ace, queen, knave, King, queen, knave, are 

each worth four ; Ace, queen, ten, Ace, knave, 

ten, King, queen, ten, are each worth three : 

Ace, queen, Ace, knave, King, queen, are each 

. worth two ; King, knave, * ten, King, knave, 

Queen; knave, ten, are each worth one. - 

These are not " sure tricks," but trick values. 
, The number of small cards does not alter these 
values, but as the major suits, hearts and spades, 
are declared in the hope that they will be the 
trump, there should be at least five cards in suit, 
or four very strong ones. The following are 
strong enough in themselves for a free bid :— 
Ace, king, knave, ten ; ace. queen, knave, ten ; 
king, queen, knave, ten ; ace, king, queen, *. 

Length in the minor suits, clubs and diamonds, 
is not important, as they are bid to show tricks, 
not trumps, and always in the hope that tho 
partner will have something better. 

Major suits ask for support. Minor suits 
offer it. 

In every free bid, at least two of the four or 
more values should be in the suit named, or it is 
a secondary* bid, not a free bid. Suits that 
contain only three values require an outside 
king to bring the total value up to four. Suits 
worth two only require two values outside ; an 
ace, a king-queen suit, or two kings. 

A very important feature in modern bidding is 
to distinguish hands that have all the strength 
in one suit from those that have trick values in 
two suits. The rule is to bid all the hand is 
worth if it is all in one suit and to rebid the hand 
if it is in two suits. The minor suits are never 
bid for more than one at the start, unless they 
are strong enough to bid five and go game with 
average assistance from the partner. The two- 
trick bid in a strong minor suit is a thing of the 
past. It forces the partner to go too high to 
take it out. 

A suit of only five cards in hearts or spades is 
never bid originally for more than one trick, no 
matter how strong it is. With four values in 
the suit itself, and six cards, bid two ; with seven 
cards, bid three ; with eight cards, bid four. 
With only three values in the suit itself, never 
bid two originally unless there are seven in suit ; 
with eight in suit, bid three. Suits with less 
than two values at the top are never worth an 
original bid unless there are eight cards ; then 
bid four hearts or three spades, as a shut-out. 

When there two or three values in a second 




suit, in addition to the four in the suit named, 
the suit is rebid to show the outside tricks. 
Five hearts to the ace, king is a free bid for the 
dealer, or second hand if the dealer passes, even 
with nothing outside. With the ace of another 
suit, the bidding would be one heart the first 
time, and two hearts, if necessary, on the second 

To rebid a hand without assistance from the 
partner, or without waiting for it, the declarer 
should have six values, to provide against the 
possibility that his partner's hand may be below 
average. To rebid again he should have eight, 
and to rebid a third time, ten. 

With two suits which are both sound free bids, 
always bid the higher-ranking suit first; not 
necessarily the stronger. With five hearts to 
the ace, king, queen, and five spades to the 
ace, knave, ten, bid the spades first, then the 
hearts, if opportunity offers. When one suit is 
major, the other minor, the minor, suit should 
never be mentioned. Keep rebidding the major 
suit. With five spades to the ace, knave, ten, and 
. six diamonds to the ace, king, queen, knave, bid 
a spade and rebid the spades twice, if necessary. 

To bid no-trumps, there should be at least 
four values distributed among three suits, or 
between two suits, and a third suit safely stopped, 
even if it has no values. It is better to have 
five values for a no-trumper, unless it is bid 
second hand, after the dealer has passed. A 
good major-suit bid should always be given the 
preference if there is a choice between that and 
. no-tramps. 

The trumps in the partner's hand have an 
entirely different value from those held by the 
declarer, and the honours are not worth as 
much as honours in plain suits. This trump 
valuation is an entirely new thing in bidding. 

The normal bid on a major suit is five cards, 
and the average holding for the partner would 
be two or three. As three small trumps will 
win a trick, separately from the declarer's trumps, 
about half the time, we rate them at half a trick. 
The same value is attached to two trumps, if one 
is as good as the queen/ An extra trump or 
honours adds to this value, but no trump holding 
is worth more than two, as trumps. Any 
additional value depends on the ability to ruff 
iome suit on the first or second round. Such 
values are added to the value of the trumps 
themselves, according to this table : — 

Three small, or one honour (queen, king, or 
ace) and one small, equals a half ; four small, 
or one honour (queen, king, or ace) and two 
small, equals one and a half ; two honours (knave 
and one better) and two or more small, equals 
two ; for ruffing first round of a suit, add ace 
value, equals two ; for ruffing second round of a 
suit, add king value, equals one ; ruffing both 
first and second, with at least lour trumps, 
equals three. 

The assisting bids in suit are based on the 
dealer's having probably only four values, so 
that he expects his partner to hold three. Add 
to these the half for average trumps, and we 
get three and a half as the average value of the 
partner's hand in a suit bid. It is highly im- 

portant to remember that these three and a half 
values are included in the original declaration. 
Therefore the partner should never assist unless 
he holds more than three and a half. 

With four and a half he should assist once, 
if the bid is overcalled ; with five and'a half 
assist twice, and with six and a half assist again. 

If the declarer rebids his hand without waiting 
for any assist, or in spite of its absence, assist 
with three and a half. If he has rebid twice, 
assist with two and a half. If he rebids three 
times, assist with one and a half. 

Holding less than average trumps, such as 
two small only, the partner must deny the suit 
unless it is an original two-bid. Bid any suit 
with two or more values in it and four or five 
cards. With no such strength, bid any suit of 
five cards. With nothing, pass. The moment 
the partner denies a suit, the cards in it fall from 
their attacking value to their defensive value, or 
one-half that given in the table. A heart bid 
on ^ve to the ace, king is normally worth four ; 
but if the partner denies the suit it is worth two 
only. The shifting value of a hand is often 
interesting. For example : — The dealer bids one 
heart on these cards : five hearts to the ace, 
queen, knave; four diamonds to the ace, knave, 
ten; three spades to the queen and one small 
club. His partner denies the hearts with a spade. 
The driginal bid was worth seven values. The 
hearts are reduced to two, the spades increased 
to one and a half, with one more for the club 
ruff, while the diamonds remain at three, as that 
suit has not been denied. Worth seven and a 
half, or three assists, in spades, allowing for the 
possible weakness of a forced denial. 

The defensive bids cut all valuations in half, 
so that holding ace, king, and others in clubs and 
the ace of spades against a heart contract, there 
are only three values for defence. The defensive 
bids third hand, after two passes, or the ask for 
a lead fourth hand against a no-trumper, are 
matters of judgment. 

As an example of this system of counting up 
the trick values, take this hand, one of those 
played at Spring Lake : — 

Hearts— io, 6, 4. 
Clubs— King, queen, 8, 4. 
Diamonds — 7, 3, a. 
Spades — Ace, 4, 2. 

Hearts — Ace, 3. 
Clubs — io, 9, 5. 
Diamonds— Ace, king, 

9» 8 » 4- 
Spades— 9, 8, 5. 


A B 


H car is— King, queen, 
knave, 8, 5, ». 
Clubs— 7, 3. 
Diamonds — xo, 6, 5. 
Spades— 7, 3. 

Hearts — 9, 7. 
Clubs — Ace, knave, 6, 2. 
'Diamonds — Queen, knave. 
Spades— King, queen, knave, 10, 6. 

Z bids a spade on six values. A two diamonds, 
on six values. Y passes, having only the average 
three and a half. B two hearts (legitimate two- 
bid on six cards). Z rebids. A assists hearts 
with four and a half values, and Y assists th 5 
rebid hand with his three and a half. B has n } 
rebid. Note that A's hearts drop to a ha £ 
value as trumps. Either side can make the bid . 

th^c odd. ITY OF MICHIGAN 

c (dXc 




Illustrated ty Reg. F. Smith. 

.1— — - .-- ' — —J 

1BSSAMV stood before the old- 
fashioned horse-hair sofa, gazing 
at the soft creamy satin dress 
outspread upon it. 

Ian had insisted upon a proper 
wedding-dress, just as he had 
insisted upon a proper wedding. 
" I want my one and only 
wedding-day to be just perfect," he said. " A 
real spring day — if ray luck holds — and the 
church all moss and primroses, and the old bells 
ringing, and the few people I care about waiting to 
sign the register. Perkins playing the wedding- 
march ever so badly, and you coming up the aisle, 
all in white, and just a little shy, and — oh, you 
darling " 

After this, his comments became more in- 
coherent than his wishes. And since they were 
Tan's wishes, Jessamy henceforth adopted them 
as her own. 

The wedding-dress had been ready for months, 
waiting for the ninety-six hours' leave which 
seemed to linger so terribly. And then, after all, 
it came just as Ian wished — in late March, when 
the hedgerows were full of moss and primroses, 
waiting to be transferred to the old grey church. 

Jessamy went straight down to Meadowleigh 
directly Ian 's# telegram came ; it had been ar- 
ranged beforehand that she was to meet him 
there, just as it had been arranged that he should 
put up at the inn for the one night preceding the 
wedding, whilst Jessamy stayed with his uncle 
and aunt at their tiny Georgian house in the 
tiny street of one of the tiniest villages in 
England. . 

The evening had passed like a dream. Jessamy 
could only remember two clear feelings, when at 
last she reached her bedroom — intense joy at 
being with Ian once more, and intense shyness 
of his relations, the over-noisy General and the 
over-silent Generaless. 

Shyness was Jessamy's besetting misery. New 
people — even strange servants and strange shop- 
men — were a real terror to her, unless they were 
very old or very young. Why, she had actually 
been shy of Ian once ; she was shy of him now — 

But at this moment the girl had forgotten 
ever> thing else, except the soft white gown upon 
the sofa, and the strange beautiful thing ot which 
that gown was the outward symbol. Other 
things lay piled there, too : little white slippers, 
silk stockings, lacy softnesses, all run through 
with ribbons which should bring the marriage- 
luck of " something blue." 

'* And ray Limerick veil is the ' something 
borrowed,' and the rose-point collar ' something 
old/ " Jessamy sighed, rapturously. " As for 
• something uew ' — well, there's plenty of that ! " 

The girl went slowly across to the wide-open 
window, and stood there for some time, looking 
down into the shadowy garden, with the sweet, 
earthy-smelling air cooling her hot cheeks. 
She stood there so long that the candle burnt 
low — went out — leaving the room all in soft 
spring darkness. 

Jessamy came back to practical things with a 
start of dismay. There was no second candle 
in the room, no gas or electric light in the whole 
of the old-fashioned house. Well, she must 
finish getting ready for bed in the dark. 

When, at last, all her preparations completed, 
the girl slipped in between the lavender-sweet 
sheets, it was to fall asleep with a soft whisper in 
her ears : " To-morrow . . . to-morrow." 

Perhaps it was just the voice of her heart. 

To-morrow came with a pearl-grey dawn and 
an extremely early bustle and movement in 
the house. For weddings do not take place 
every day in Meadowleigh, and this one was fixed 
for ten o'clock. Earliest of all the small household 
was Maggie the parlourmaid, and when the cook 
and housemaid descended, they found her sitting 
upon a stiff oak chair by the open front door, 
her usually ruddy face almost pale. 

" Why, Maggie, whatever is the matter ? " 
cook ejaculated. " You look to me as though 
you'd got a bilious attack ! " 

" It's nothing of the sort ! " the girl protested, 
indignantly. " But I've 'ad such a turn as you 
can't think " 

- What d'you mean? " , 




hair the 'all and gone out in the porch with the 
mats, when she come- out past me. I do declare 
I could 'ave screamed, I was that frightened ! " 

" 'Oo come out ? " cook demanded, impatiently. 

" A black woman ! " 

" A black woman ! Whatever do you mean ? " 

" Just what I slays — a nigger woman it was — 
as black as that stove ; I've never see'd anything 
like 'er before. An' the look in 'er eyes made 
me feel fair sick — you could tell she was up to no 
good. 'Orrible, it was. She whisked past me 
before you could say ' knife,' an' was down the 
path an' out of the gate." 

" Didn't you try to stop 'er ? " 

" What, an' as like as not be shot or stabbed 
or something— not me ! Besides? I was just 
about too frightened to move, even if I 'ad dared." 

" Well, we'd best look round and see if any- 
thing^ missing," the housemaid decided. " I 
expect robbery's what she was after — it's a 
lucky thing the missis keeps the silver-basket 
in her own room." 

A careful search revealed nothing missing irt 
dining-room, drawing-room, or pantry ; the 
servants, much relieved in mind, partook of their 
early tea, before pairing the rest of the household, 
and lingered over it longer than usual in earnest 
discussion of the mysterious negress. 

It was not until an hour or so later that the 
housemaid discovered a further and more 
absorbing mystery. She went to call Jessamy 
and found that the bride-elect had vanished. 

Her bed was disordered ; the drawers and 
wardrobe flung open as though she had dressed 
in a hurry, disturbed by some sudden, peremp- 
tory summons. There was no note of explana- 
tion ; the girl had simply disappeared. 

Ian Kinross, summoned hastily from the little 
Inn, found a most perturbed and distressed 
household assembled in the hall. 

" I've always said you were making a mistake, 
Ian — to marry a girl none of us knew. This is 
the result ! " was the rather illogical climax of 
the General's voluble arguments. 

" Perhaps she's only gone for a walk — couldn't 
sleep or something." Ian's face, white and stern- 
lipped, belied the lightness of his tone. 

" My dear boy, nonsense ! No woman would 
leave herself less than an hour to dress for her 
wedding," the Generaless said, decisively, and, 
as usual, her rare utterance sounded conclusive. 

Maggie, the parlourmaid, began to sob 

" It's that black woman," she gasped. 
" She's made away with Miss Elton — I knew 
when I see'd 'er that she'd been up to no good." 

" A black woman— what do you mean by 
that ? " Kinross demanded, and tore Maggie's 
story from her, bit by bit. 

Ten minutes later he strode grimly down the 
garden -path on the track of Jessamy or the 
mysterious negress, either or both. Some instinct 
told him that the one would involve the other, 
that the black woman was the sinister clue to 
the problem. 

It turned out to be a clue even easier to follow 
than he had hoped ; such a visitant was rarely 
seen in Meadowleigh, and she had been observed, 

wide-eyed, even at that * early hour. A little 
child had fled screaming, a woman had caught a 
glimpse of her, hiding behind a hedge, whilst 
Kinross's own landlord at the Bexton Arms 
could give more explicit information. 

4 ' Yes, she come here about half-past six," he 
said. " Wanted a conveyance to drive to 
Mildent at once. We've onty the one pony-cart, 
and it took a bit of time to get the horse in and 
all that. And, my word, she did seem impatient. 
I heard her tramping up and down the parlour. 
Nice-spoken, she was, too, but I never could 
abide niggers ; they give me the creeps." 

" Was she alone ? " 

" S'far as I saw, sir. Of course, someone 
might have been waiting. The lady didn't want 
to be seen — I noticed that ; she shut herself 
into the parlour and locked the door. But I 
put it down to her blackness — —" 

" Lend me that bicycle of yours, will you, 
Standen ? I must go to Mildent at once. " 

" Certainly, Captain ; but " ' The man 

stared perplexedly. " I thought it was your 
wedding-day, sir ? " 

4 ' So it is, but that needn't prevent me from 
going to Mildent. I may take the bicycle, then ? 

Ian Kinross rode swiftly along the seven-mile- 
long road which led to Mildent, his eyes, haggard 
and strained, searching the country to either side 
of him. It was an exquisite spring morning, 
but for the young man a sinister 'cloud hung 
over the whole peaceful landscape. 

What could it mean — what could it possibly 
mean ? With sickening iteration, the question 
drummed itself out in his brain. That Jessamy, 
on this morning of all mornings in her life, should 
have left the house of her own volition, was 
impossible — incredible. And if not it meant 
that she had been carried away by force, 
or stratagem — it meant foul play, of some 

Kinross rode on faster, trying by sheer speed 
to escape from the horror and dread which filled 

Even in Mildent, that bustling country town, 
it did not prove so difficult to keep the scent as 
he had feared. A policeman at the corner of 
the market-place had noticed the black woman. 

" Yes, sir ; she passed in Standen 's cart from 
Meadowleigh. No, sir ; I'm afraid I didn't notice 
who was with her, I was staring that hard. It's 
not every dav one sees such a black lady as that, 

" Which way did she go ? " Kinross demanded, 

" Along North Gate, sir— towards the Rose 
and Crown, I expect That's wh^re Standen 
usually puts up." 

To the Rose and Crown accordingly the 
young man rode, and found, as he had hoped, 
the pony-cart drawn up in the yaid. But the 
driver, who might have been its mouthpiece, was 
lacking, and a loitering stableman could give 
little information. 

" Bill Jones, 'e brought the cart in empty," he 
asserted. " Said as 'e'd get a bit o' breakfast 
and come back for it later, PVaps 'e meant the 
fare J ud tc going back, too- I don't know." 





Kinross stared at the cart despairingly— then 
suddenly started forward with a sharp exclama- 
tion, and snatched something from the seat. 
He stood staring at the little glove which he held, 
plainly and unmistakably one of a pair which 
he himself had given to Jessamy —a particularly 
nice fur-lined pair, So he was on the right 
track— Jessamy and the black woman were 
together ; so much was certain. 

Kinross thrust the glove into his pocket, and 
turned back into the street, whiter and more 
etern-lipped than ever* He stood hesitating for 
a moment, uncertain which way to go, but chance 
was still upon Ms side. A small boy sidled up 
to him. 

M Mister, was you wanting the black lady what 
rode in tlvat 'ere cart ? " he asked. 

" Yes 1 " Captain Kinross, in his eagerness 
scarcely proved himself a good detective. ' Yes 
— I want her most particularly. Look here, my 
son, I r U give you half a crown if you can tell me 
which way she's gone.' 1 

'* Whoy, she went into that shop over there — 
T seen her ! '* The boy pointed across the market- 
place, his eyes and mouth almost as round a.4 his 
promised fee with amazed delight. " That shop 
wiv J all the 'air in the winder." 

Kinross hurriedly produced the coin, and 
plunged across the cobbled square towards the 
shop jn question. It was r\ hairdresser's, in the 
window of which a pasty- faced waxen image 

slowly revolved, displaying in turn an inviting 
leer and an impossibly coloured back- view. 

The door- bell clashed with the violence of 
Kinross's entry, and he was confronted across 
the counter by a small and unmasculinc individual 
in a white apron, 

M I want to see the black woman who came in 
here a little while ago/' Kinross blurted out. and 
immediately afterwards cursed himself inwardly 
for his want of tact. 

The small man tittered nervously. 

" Well, reely, sir- " he began, but the young 

man interrupted, realizing that since he had 
begun to bluster, he must carry through the 
business with the same weapon. 

M Don't keep me waiting, but tell me where she 
is at once/' 

" Well, reely. sir, I don't know You 

don't J appen to be *er 'usband- ? ,J 

" No ! " 

* Well, reel " 

" Take me to her at once ! J " 

" Well, reely- -I 'aven't even said as she's 'ere* 
Sir " 

" There's no need. Is anyone with her ? " 

" She most pertickler told me not to say - - " 

" Where, is she ? M 

Hi Well, reely " 

But Kinross waited for no more. Suddenly 
his last shred of patience vanished, and he strode 

^^iM&fr Mctef k o{ the shop * 



past the stammering, gasping little hairdresser* 
Ahead lay the kitchen premises, indicated by the 
smell of cooking, present and past ; to his right 
rose a single oil-clothed flight of stairs, with one 
yellow-painted door at the head of it. 

Upstairs Kinross went, three steps at a time, 
past all the ordinary rules of convention by now. 
Next instant he was knocking npon the door with 
both fists. 

" Who's in there ? " he demanded, and waited 
for an answer, cold and sick with suspense. 

Something like a frightened gasp came from 
within the room— something that was almost like 
a sob. There was silence for a moment, then a 
quavering, uncertain voice spoke. 

" Then — oh, what on earth are you up ^ 
Have you forgotten that it's our wedding-day — 
that they're waiting at the church already ? '* 

11 I — can't marry you — at least, not now— not 
to-day— I simply can't/' 

Kinross grew whiter than ever and his brows 
drew together in a heavy frown. He was not 
at any time a particularly patient man, and in 
this instance Job himself might have been 
pardoned for a touch of irritation. 

" Look here, Jessamy) I'm not going to stand 
this," he said, sternly. " Have you any reason 
for this extraordinary conduct ? M 

" Yes ! " 

*' Then tell me what it is at onet\ Have you 


I ) 



" What &-&o you w-want - — ? u 

At the sound of that voice, Kinross's heart 
flave a great throb of joy and re lief < Plainly and 
unmistakably, it was Jessamy speaking. So, 
at least, she was alive — and within reach. Not 
until that moment did Kinross realize fully 
how ghastly had been Ins fears, 

" Jessamy — Jessamy, my dear ! " he cried. 
" So you are here — you're all right, Open the 
door at once, and tell me what on earth you're 
playing at, you little villain ! !l 

" I — I can't " The voice broke in a sob, 

1( Can't > What d'you mean ? ,J 

" I — I — oh, Ian, I can't open the door— it's no 
use— ,J 

'* What in Heaven's name do you mean, 
Jessamy ? I say— are you ill, dear ? ' J 

4t No." 

heard any lies about me — has someone been 
making mischief ? " 

" No— oh, no ! " 

"Then— have you discovered that— that you 
don't care for me enough, after all ? si In spite 
of all hb resolution and sternness, the young 
fellow's voice was not quite steady, 

"" No— no— orC Jan, darting, it's nothing of 
that sort J " 

4i Then what is all this cursed mystery ? 
Jessamy, I insist on hearing/' 

" I— 1 can l t tell you- -I've been a lool ! Oh, 
Ian, please go away ! " 

" I shall do nothing of the sort/ 1 Kinross was 
growing each moment steadily more angiy now* 
" I know who is el: th« bottom of this — and I 

E3lft^ 'JPhifflteWfr : that cur9Cd 



if crash! went one shoulder through the flimsy yellow-painted panel; with 


"Oh!" Again there came that tittle gasping sob, she speak for hcrsclt ? How did she manage to 

" Am I right ? Is she with you in the rocm persuade you to corns away to-day— oh, good 

now— tell rne at once, Jessamy I M heavens, what's the meaning of it all ? " 

Broken by a sob came the anwe r at last " I can't tell you now, Oh, Ian, if you love 

"Yes/* me, you U go away — for a little while, at any 

■ O. a— ^ k» it I The .by do^'t „t^- -- ^ > ^ 

6 4 


" IH love you, I'll stay and get to the bottom 
of this." His voice altered and grew very 
tender. " Little girl, I'm the next thing to your 
husband already — I've the right to know, since 
you'll be my wife- in an hour or two." 

" No, Ian, I — I can't marry you to-day " 

" You shall ! Jessamy, open the door this 
minute — let me speak to you properly.*' 

" No — you mustn't. Ian, if you knew the 
truth, you — I don't believe you'd want to " 

" The truth ? About this confounded 
negress ? " ' 

41 Yes. About— about the negress " 

The voice broke. Kinross could hear the gijU 
crying, in a stifled, appealing fashion. 

Suddenly, without further consideration, 
driven to desperation by that piteous sound. 
Tan Kinross acted. He measured the distance, 
drew back, and threw his whole weight against 
the door. Crash I went one shoulder through the 
flimsy yellow-painted panel ; with a splintering, 
rending sound, the hinges gave way, so un- 
expectedly that Kiaros9 plunged headlong into 
the room, and recovered his footing only by an 

There was a little cry from the angle of the 
room between the window and the fireplace. 
Kinross, recovering his equilibrium, stared and 
stared, as though the balance of his mind was 
far from being equally restored. He felt utterly 
dazed and bewildered, for the slim figure in the 
corner was the sole apparent occupant of the 
room, the figure which leant back against the 
wall, trying to hide an ebony-black face with two 
slender black hands. 

The young man spoke hoarsely. 

" What's it mean — am I mad ? Oh, for God J s 
sake, whoever you are, tell me what it means ? 
Where's Jessamy ? " 

The appeal in his voice was strained and almost 
piteous. Suddenly, the figure in the corner drew 
itself up with a little sob — came towards him, 
biack hands outstretched ." 

41 Oh, Ian — Ian, don't you know me ? " she 

It was Jessamy's voice — and they were 
Jessamy's eyes, brown, and gold -flecked, shining 
out strangely from the blackness of the face. 
Kinross stared and stared again, speechlessly, 
and the girl went on speaking eagerly. 

"I'll explain now — -I'll tell you all about it. 
It — it ^doesn't matter — since you have seen 

She buried her face in her hands for a moment, 
then looked up and spoke steadily. 

" This is what happened. I dawdled last 
night and my candle went out before I was quite 
ready ; I had to finish getting to bed in the dark. 
And I wanted to look especially nice to-day — 
nicer than I'd ever looked before in my life — 
oh, you understand, don't you, Ian ! It wasn't 
just — just vainness ; a girl does. So I'd bought 
some cream stuff to rub on my face and hands : 

the cold wind makes them burn so and look red 
and rough. I found the bottle in the dark and 
rubbed it on very thoroughly, according to the 
directions, all over my hands and arms and face 
and neck. Then 1 went to bed. 

" It was just getting light when I woke up ; 
the birds were singing, and I thought I'd look 
out and see the sun rising. As I went to the 
window, 1 saw myself in the glass. And I was 
like this. 

■ " I thought, for a minute, that I was mad ; 
then I found out what had happened. The pot 
of face-cream was very much the same size and 
shape as a jar of black polish and .stain for kid 
shoes— and I had used the wrong one. I 
scrubbed and scrubbed qt my face and hands, 
but they only seemed to get blacker and blacker ; 
I know now that water was the very worst thing 
to use. I tried everything I coujd think of, 
but it didn't have any effect. 

" After nearly an hour, I was pretty desperate, 
and I suppose it made me hysterical and foolish. 
Anyhow, I simply couldn't face the idea of telling 
people — of letting anyone in the house see me— 
like this. Most awful of all was the thought of 
you seeing me— on our wedding-day — the day 
when I wanted above all things to be, and to 
look, my very, very best — for your sake. I 
suppose I was a vain little fool " 

For a moment the girl paused, unable to go 
on ; again she hid her face jfor a moment, then 
continued bravely. • 

" So I planned to slip out of the house, go to 
Mildent and get the stuff taken off, without 
telling anybody. One of the servants saw me, 
but I'm sure she didn't know who I was. I 
thought I should be back in time, but everything 
took so long, and when I got here the man said 
I should have to wait for a good while. He put 
some greasy stuff on, and it must soak in 
thoroughly before it will take off the blackness. 
You see — it's stained my skin, just as though it 
had been kid ! " 

She ended with a little shaking laugh, but the 
golden-brown eyes were full of tears. And 
suddenly Kinross took her into his arms and held 
her very close to him. 

" Oh, my little gill, my poor little girl ! " he' 
whispered. '" But you shouldn't have frightened 
me so horribly, Jessamy — you should have 
trusted me a bit more." 

" It wasn't that — it was just my conceitedness, 
I suppose. Eut 1 can't be married like this, Ian, 
and it may be two or three hours before the 
black really comes off." 

11 Then we must just wait until you've changed 
your skin — you adorable little Ethiopian ! " 

" And — you don't really mind having seen me 
like this ? Oh, Ian, darling, don't ! My face 
is so horribly greasy, besides being black " 

For Kinross had proceeded to answer the 
question without words, but apparently com- 
pletely to his and her satisfaction. 

by Google 

Original from 

Tke H 

umour o 




HE son of a Warrington merchant, 
Wilmot Lunt decided whilst 
still a hoy to make Art his 
profession. This was largely due 
to the happy accident which 
placed him at the Botelar 
Grammar School in that town 
under the tuition of a drawing- 
roaster of exceptional character and ability, 
Mr- J, C. Thompson. Mr. Thompson was also on 
the staff of the Warrington Art School, and in 
that institution had had among his pupils Sir 
Luke Fildes, R.A., and Mr, H* Woods, R.A, 
Mr, Lunt describes him as "a stern discip- 
linarian and a conscientious craftsman " who 
took great interest in his work and gave him 
much valuable advice. 
After leaving school >fr, Lunt attended for 

some time the Lancashire School of Art, He 
knew that he would have to rely upon his own 
efforts if he was to make his way ia Art, 
Accordingly he worked hard for and eventually 
obtained, at the age of nineteen, a Lancashire 
County Scholarship which provided him with 
three years' training as and where he would. 
The first term of this period he spent at the 
Royal College of Art, South Kensington, hut 
found its restraints too irksome and the fascina- 
tion of the Paris ateliers too irresistible. Ac- 
cordingJy he proceeded to Paris and entered 
Julien's studio and worked under Professor 
Benjamin Constant and Jean Paul Laurens, 
" We all worked there," he says, " like Trojans 
under these masters* There were no ' red 
tape s regulations, but just the joy of working 
for the pleasure of the work, which was made 

My fwrntuHoii a/\ 
VoL lvu— 6. 

by K; 


"IN THE SPRING . . . . ^..". 

Even a tform will turn I Original from 




doubly interesting by the sincere but 
caustic criticism of the professors, wlio 
always had an underlying kindliness, 
however for earnest students" 

Mr. Lunt's ambition at this time 
was to become a painter in oih, 
and in pursuance of this ambition 
he painted during his leisure time a 
Large canvas, ' l Les FuneraiJles dune 
Nonne/' Mr, Lunt recalls with u 
laugh how t in his shirt- sleeves, he 
wheeled the picture himself on a 
hand -cart to the Palais des Beaux 
Arts, assisted by an American artist 
whose name is now a household word 
in New York and Paris. " The picture 
was a sad affair/' he says, Hi in every 
way, both in motive and achieve- 
ment. But the judges at the Salon 
in the goodness of their hearts found 
some redeeming features evidently— 
for it was ' hun^ ' at the exhibition 
oi igoi , and my joy was complete/' 

But Mr. Lunt could not afford to 
■wait whilst he was making a reputa- 
tion as a painter. On leaving Paris, 
he frankly says, he was faced with the 
necessity of earning a livelihood and 

. i 


McFooZLE (enlhusiastic golfer) : "Gee ! What a lovely lie ! " 

Bu ptrmtiiitn of " Print tri fit" 


The Cavalry Instructor (to nervous 
recruit) : "Push er 'ead up, sonny ! Push 
Vr *ead up I ThaTll slop 'er jumpin'. " 

the outlook \\i\s by no means 
" rou leu r de rose/ In these circling 
stances he had ro turn to black-and- 
white work, like other artists now 
eminent, as a '* stand-by/* Mr. Lunt 
went through the usual struggle until 
he found his feet. His tirst published 
drawings appeared in the Idler under 
the tditovship of Mr. Kobert Ban\ 
who accepted :i considerable number 
of contributions from him for that 
magazine. Since that time Mr. Lunt 
has worked for most of the illustrated 
periodicals^ including Punt ft, tbe Sketchy 
the T after, London Opinion, and the 
Bystander. Latterly he has given 
much of his time to cartoons, and has 
found pleasure in ridiculing the Uuti 
and his methods, lllack-nnd-white 
work, indeed, at first rp^arded as a 
" stand-by/' has become his main occu- 
patit5i:ifipnalrfi|- v ailiixury. He has eon- 

UNM^TW"*flC+flS*J* ni ^ to the 




By r"'" into «■/'**« " /i';i«(Bi:iffr. 

byGi A 

false alarm. Original from 





The K.m t : ,( Gee Wi/ [ What a chicken! 

&tf permiHia n o/ {'■* "Sketch" 

Royal Academy, but his contributions have been 
small and unpretentious pic Ki res. having subjects 
which appealed to him at odd moments and 
produced in brief intervals of leisure during his 
regular work. His holidays have usually been 
spent on a motor-cycle, penetrating to all the 
principal sketching districts of the United 
Kingdom. Yorkshire, in the neighbourhood of 
W hi tby , ha s been a pa rti l u la rl y fa ^ou ri te g rou ltd 
for him. These sketches liave not only borne 
fruit in pictures for the Academy but have also 
yielded excellent results in figures and back- 
grounds for his humorous work. The old type 
of seaman and longshoreman to be met with on 
the Yorkshire coast, for instance, together with 

the old boats and quays, have often been intro- 
duced into his drawings. 

Questioned as to his method of work, Mr. Lunt 
replies that they are " just ordinary." ** Un- 
fortunately," he adds P M I have not discovered 
any easy way of doiitft it- and it seems to become 
more difficult. Rarely do I use models, pre t erring 
to rely on observations and memory. In this 
respect I owe a pood deal to niy excellent 
training in figurt- and costume drawing. As a 
general rule, I make a rough sketch of the com- 
position and then make direct on the board a 
fin is h ed dra w in ? r P] -c ha b) y li v i n g i n the country 



For the past ten 
years Mr, Lunt has 
resided in a village 
about fifteen miles 
from London, hav- 
ing emigrated there 
from Chelsea for the 
sake of health. His 
studio, a converted 
railway booking* 
office, is in the midst 
of a garden now 
largely devoted 
from patriotic 
motives to vege- 
table production , 
and containing also 
a model fowl-house, 
with a beautiful 
brood of white Leg- 
horns. He and his 
wife have made a 
hobby of poultry- 
keeping, and it 
seems characteristic 
of their interest in 
the pursuit that 
when we had 
finished our talk in 
the studio I should 
be asked to inspect 
the birds, and my 
admiration for their 
immaculate condition is as unbounded as it is 
spontaneous. Unlike some artists who live in the 
country, however, Mr, Lunt does not consider that 
country life is in the interests of his work* " For 

'ArrV ; "Wur*s Bill? Don't see 'im nowhere. 1 
'Ahriktt: ** Bill? Oh, 'e couldn't Ret in, 'Eswalkrvd 
\s tanner/ 1 n y j^n^^an >/- muto-1 1 r**-." 

consequence my work alw 
hopelessly unsatisfactory, 
iiiilures stimulating and I 
something, even U it is only 

purposes of work 
on topical matters, ' J 
he says, " the town 
dweller scores, 
Being on the spot 
he has constant 
opportunities of 
reference and a 
ready choice of 
models — - an im- 
portant matter." 

" No. 1 have no 
theory on art, 
humorous 01 other- 
wise/* Mr. Lunt 
says in reply to 
another question, 

II It is all a mystery- 
to me and I dare 
advance no do^ma 
of my own. For 
in all probability 

III a short time I 
should iind myself 
hopelessly wrong 
Art has a wide out- 
look and I am no 
critic. My imagina- 
tion, I fear, is much 
in advance of my 
execution (as is 
generally the case 
with artists), and in 

ays appears to me 
But I find even 
am always learning 
how not to do it.' 1 

ENfiRGLTJc OLD L*UY (who has speared old gent's hat) : " II Vail right— I've got it!' 

By jwmijJtOK of LH Latvian Ojitiuton-Q.-j ^ j.^ ^ I from 


. LJ__JL T J« ^1 L III 



Illustrated bj 

No. VIII. 


HE terms of the Xmperso nation 
Problem, which came up for 
adjudication at the fiftieth 
meeting 'of the Club, were as 
follows : — 

H It is required to be mistaken 
for six different people in the 
course of one hour." 
Mr, Wildersley, A.R.A. — large, cheerful, and 
childlike — took the chair, and observed that it 
was just as well for other members that the 
dignified position of adjudicator prevented him 
from competing, as otherwise he would have 
been a certain winner- It was a claim that the 
chairman for the evening very frequently made, 
but Wildersley was not very serious about it* 

" My profession/' he said, " would have given 
me a start of about eighty yards in the hundred, 
I'm skilled in the rapid use of oil-paints, Within 
the prescribed limit of one hour I could have 
painted myself to look like a rabbit, or a tomato, 
or a man, or a hole in the ground, or any other 
object of the sea-shore, so as absolutely to defy 
detection. Not one of you duffers would have 
had a chance." 

" Pardon the interruption," said Mr. Quillian, 
IvC, " but the terms of the problem require us 
to be mistaken for six different people. May 1 
ask the chairman if he would consider a rabbit 
and a tomato as being people for the purposes 
of this problem ? " 

" The time of the chairman," said Wildersley, 
severely, " is not to be wasted on purely 
hypothetical cases- If, when his t.urn ^ojtnrs f 
Mr* Qu Lilian claims to have been nu 

turn comet 

rabbit I shall be ready both to believe it and to 
adjudicate upon it. And now, gentlemen, we 
wilt have the story of your dismal i allures. 
Hesse I tine here is acting as secretary to-night, 
and he may as well get Ins talking done first, so 
that he can give his undivided attention to his 

M Well/* said Hesseltine, * 4 Feldane and T went 
into partnership this time, as the rules permit. 
We don't claim to have scored the full six, but 
we had a lovely time while it lasted, Jimmy had 
better tell you about it, as he played the lead." 

14 Yes," said Jimmy, with a weary smile, "it 
w*as quite on the amusing side. Involved a lot 
of work though — thinking it all out and getting 
together the properties for the drama. If we 
scooped fifty-five pounds each over it we 
shouldn't be overpaid, but just as we were 
doing nicely the bottom fell out of it. However, 
I'll tell you/' 

The incidents which Jimmy related were as 
follows, Early on a fine morning he and Hessel- 
tine were conveyed by a taxi-cab to a point, 
previously selected, on a road on the outskirts 
of a south- western suburb. Here they unloaded 
their miscellaneous collect ton of properties and 
got to work. Hie driver took the cab oft to a 
public -house in the vicinity, and there awaited 
further orders, 

Hess el tine was disguised as a labourer, 
Jimmy, who was to act as his boss, was got up as T 
to use his own description, " a sort of semi- 
scientific clerky person, clad in a seedy suit, a 
pince-nez, aififi g/m dif TQA\ educated wisdom/' 

They ^fifffe^t'P^limi^f f the roadwa ^ 



with stakes and ropes, fixing- red flags at the 
corners of the square. Then Hesseltine entered 
the enclosure and began vigorously to dig a 
hole in the road with pick and spade. It was 
still early, and there were few people about. 
So Hesseltine 's boss condescended to lend a hand 
with the digging. Afterwards Feldane contented 
himself with strolling round the hole with a 
voltmeter, borrowed from the taxi-cab, in one 
hand, a two-foot rule sticking out of his breast- 
pocket and a general air of importance. 

When the hole was about three feet deep a 
sleepy policeman pausedon his way past. 

'\Something wrong with the drains ? " he asked. 
. " Hope not," said Feldane, cheerfully. " But 
that's what we're going to find out. We're just 
putting in the smoke-test on this section." 

M I see," said the policeman. " You ain't 
from Mackworth's, are you ? " 

41 Mackworth's ? Oh, no. We re from Matthews 
and Byles', the sanitary engineers at Vauxhall. 
Dare say .you know the name." 

The policeman said he believed he'd heard it, 
and passed on. The game had now definitely 
begun, and there was only one hour to play it in 
and no time to be lost. A small car was ap- 
proaching with a lady driving. Feldane ran into 
the road, held up his hand, and stopped it. 

-l Sorry, madam," he said to the lady, " but 
would you mind waiting just for a few seconds ? 
I'm sure you'll understand. We've got an 
Erichsen's galvanometrical balance working in 
that hole, and the least vibration would spoil 
the reading. We sha'n't be a minute." 

" Certainly," said the lady. " I know some- 
thing of these delicate instruments. What are 
you using it f or ? " 

" We're from the Post Office Electrical Survey. 
There's trouble with the telegraph wires here 
that they can't locate. Of course if iron pyrites 
have been used in the construction of the road, 
that would account for it. We're looking into 
it. Bill," he called to Hesseltine, " what do 
you make it ? " 

Hesseltine examined the bottom of the hole. 
" Steady at two point five," he called back. 

" Good. Let this car past, and then set afoot 
further in. Thank you very much, madam." 

The unsuspecting lady drove on. Hesseltine 
sat down in the hole and laughed. Jimmy 
glanced at his watch. " That's two in under 
ten minutes," he said. * M If we can keep it up 
at anything like this rate*, we ought to do." 

But. for some time after this passers-by proved 
curious but unenterprising. They stared with 
the keenest interest at the proceedings, but did 
not put in any inquiry. Then an elderly tramp 
paused on his way into the town. 

" Water-main ? " he suggested. • 

" Aye," said Jimmy. 

" All that work for a little water ! Sooner 
you than me." 

Almost immediately afterwards a rather fussy 
and important little man demanded to know 
what it was all about. 

" Gas," said Jimmy laconically. 

" There's no gas-main in this road," snapped 
the little man. 

" No," said Jimmy. " Nor likely to be until 
we've took the level for the pipes. Pass along, 

The little man said that it seemed hopeless to 
expect a civil answer to a civil question nowa- 
days, but he passed along. Jimmy again 
consulted his watch. 

" Four in half an hour," he observed. " We 
can hardly miss it now." 

But fate was already on its w f ay in the shape of a 
young, newly-appointed, eager, and suspicious 
policeman. He watched Jimmy and Hesseltine 
for a minute or so in silence. Jimmy made an 
entry in a pocket-book. 

" All right, Bill," said Jimmy to Hesseltine. 
" You can fill-in again now." 

" What do you think you're doing ? " asked 
the policeman. 

'* Rubberite Road Construction," saicl Jimmy. 
41 They're putting down an experimental section 
here, and this is just the preliminary testing." 

" Don't they put no notice-board up with the 
name of the firm on ? " 

" They will, of course, as soon as the actual 
work begins. 1 have their card." This printed 
card had been one of Jimmy's properties. The 
policeman slipped it* into his pocket. 

" I've no doubt it's all right," said the police- 
man, " but I'll just show this card to make sure." 

" Certainly," said Jimmy; "that's the thing 
to do. You'll find they know all about it up at 
the station." 

The game was up. As soon as the policeman 
was round the corner Jimmy dashed off to fetch 
the taxi, while Hesseltine completed the work of 
filling in the hole and gathering their various 
properties together. They had at least the 
satisfaction of getting clear away before the 
policeman returned. 

The Chairman, when he had heard the story, 
said that if everybody had their rights it was 
probable that two of the younger members ot the 
Problem Club would now be in prison, but he 
would allow them a score of five all the same. 
The fifth score might seem a little doubtful, but 
the young policeman had said that he believed 
it was all right, and if he had not would probably 
have taken stronger measures. The Chairman 
also refused to admit Quillian's objection that 
the conspirators had been mistaken for imaginary 
people. People might be real or imaginary, and 
the subtle editor of The Pig-beepers' Friend 
had not indicated that either meaning was 
excluded. A further protest by Major Byles 
and Mr. Matthews against the scandalous use 
that had been made of their names for the firm 
of sanitary engineers was not taken seriously. 

But the Major may have been embittered by 
the completeness of his own failure. With the 
help of a grey wrg and beard and some shabby 
clothes he had intended to call at six different 
back-doors and to represent in succession six 
different people— a beggar, a fortune-teller, a 
vender of cheap jewellery, and so forth. But the 
first back-door at which he called was his own, 
and there hvt was immediately recognized by a 
house-dog and by his own kitchen-maid. His 
subsequent explanation that ne had merely be**** 

■n — ">^ 


*'his statement that he personally had drives the first 

train that had passed under the thames in that tube* 

was received by an old lady with great interest,*' 

doing it for a bet had not been well received. 
He did not give details, but it was gathered that 
Mrs. Bytes had bad a good deal to say on the 

Lord Herngill had done very little better. 
He had attempted no disguise at all* His idea 
had been, in the course of travel on the Baker loo 
Tube railway, to get into conversation with six 
cb tie rent people and to tell six plausible but 
erroneous stories about himself* His statement 
that he personally had driven the first train that 
had passed under the Thames in that tube, being 
in fact the consulting engineer of the company, 
was received by an old lady with great interest 
and not the slightest suspicion. He then 
changed into another carriage and found an 
opportunity to tell a young curate that though 
he lived within ten miles of London he had never 
been there in his life before. He was only there 
then because he had to see property that he had 
inherited at Swiss Cottage* And could the 
curate tell him at all where Swiss Cottage was ? 

That question was his undoing. "I can not 
only tell you," said the smiling curate, " but as 
it happens I am going there myself, and it will 
give me much pleasure to have your company," 

And by the time that he had got rid of that 
curate it was hopeless to attempt his remaining 
impersonations within the prescribed time. It 
was generally felt that in a matter of im persona- 
tion Lord Herngill, on his previous character, 
should have done better. 

Mr. Quill i an had bestowed six shillings on six 
different crossing -sweepers. Five of them had 
said " Thank you, m'lord/* and the other had 
said " Thank you, Captain," On this he claimed 
to have won, as it was obvious that all five 
crossing-sweepers could not have mistaken him 
for the same peer. It was pointed out to him 
by the chairman that there was not the slightest 

evidence that any one ol 
those crossing -sweepers had 
made any mistake at all, 

For once Fusel y-Smyt he 
had failed to compete, and 
said that he had been too 
busy. It was suggested that 
his time had been taken up 
with spending his winnings 
from the previous month, 
Mr. Matthews also had taken 
no part in the competition. 
The reason he gave was 
simple cowardice; the ghastly 
breakdown of his attempt tu 
impersonate an old lady for 
the purposes of the Kiss 
Problem had spoiled his 
nerve for anything of the 
Vind in the future, 

The disgraceful adventure 
of Fcldane and Hesseltine 
seemed Likely to be the 
nearest approach to the 
problem - setter's require- 
ments, until Sir Charles 
Buniord was called on for 
his experiences. Sir Charles 
claimed to have won. 

H ' I came to the conclusion/' said Sir Charles* 
" that the man who asks for something or tries 
to sell something is likely to create an atmosphere 
ol suspicion. On the other hand the man who 
gives something, even to a complete stranger, 
will have his explanatory story accepted without 
question. The fact that he stands to lose by 
the transaction is accepted as evidence of his 

" With this conviction, and with such disguise 
as I thought advisable, I called at various houses 
all in one row in the Willesden neighbourhood. 
I was accompanied by a covered handcart, 
propelled by a boy hired for the purpose. Inside 
the handcart were the gifts that I had prepared 
for the occupants of the houses, Taking ironi 
the handcart a fruit-cake in a paper bag, I rang 
at the first house and requested the dirty little 
girl who opened it to fetch her dear mamma. 
Mamma appeared, wiping her hands on her 
apron, and looking displeased with life in general 
and me in particular. 

1 Good morning, lady/ I said. 'I am in- 
structed by my employers to ask you if you will 
do them the favour of accepting as a present 
this fruit-cake of their manufacture. They are 
shortly opening a branch in this neighbourhood 
and are taking this method of making ladies 
acquainted with the quality of their goods. It 
is, in fact, an advertisement/ Alter assuring 
hers el i again that there was nothing to pay, and 
that the consumption of the cake would not 
bind her to deal with my firm —Messrs. Butter- 
stone and Co, — in future, she consented to accept 
the cake, and even to say that it seemed a 
straight way of doing business. She inquired 
where the new shop would be, which I told her, 
and what the price of a similar cake would be if 
she e^J|^4ftW$Yt6)[Hfc41fittli5AW put it at half 



what I had paid for it, and 
she said it was a pleasant 
morning. Never for one 
moment did she doubt that 
I was what I had repre- 
sented myself to be. 

*' At the next house with 
equal success I presented 
half a pound of butter as a 
sample of the products of 
the Farm Creameries Com- 
jjany, and a similar story. 
The third house got a tablet 
cf scented soap from an en- 
terprising chemist who was 
just starting in business in 
the neighbourhood* At the 
next three houses 1 distri- 
buted as free advertising 
samples a pound of sausages, 
a box of cigarettes, and a 
small bottle of whisky. It 
took longer than I had ex- 
pected, because the ladies 
had such a lot of questions 
to ask about the new shops 
that were to be opened, but 
1 finished six minutes under 
the hour, Of course, I could 
have carried all the goods 
round in a basket, but the 
handcart looked more like a 
house-to-house distribution 
on a large scale." 

The decision was not given 
in his favour until after Quil- 
lian had raised an objection. 
He maintained that in each 
case Sir Charles had been 
mistaken for the same thhig 
— to wit, the representative 
or agent in advance of a 
business firm. But the 
chairman's decision that Sir Charles had been 
mistaken for six different representatives of six 
different firms was generally approve d. And as 
no other member had a claim to make the cheque 
was handed to htm, 

The chairman then opened the sealed envelope 
containing the problem on which their ingenuity- 
was next to be expended. It was entitled 
" The Alibi Problem/' and the terms of it were 
as follows ; — 

M It is impossible for a man to be in two places 
at once. But it is required so to arrange matters 
that bvn&fide evidence would be procurable that 
at a certain hour of a certain day or night you 
were in two places at once, the two places 




to be not less than one hundred miles from 
each other/' 

"Not uninteresting," said the Rev, Septimus 
Qmlille, " but it leaves a good deal to the dis- 
cretion of the chairman. He will have to decide 
which of us could produce the best evidence that 
the impossible had been accomplished. By the 
way, who is the next chairman ? " 

" Should have been Harding Pope/' said 
Wilde r5le>\ " But as he's gone, it will be the 
member elected in his place — our old friend 
Leonard, Lord Herngill." 

" My poor abilities are at your service/* said 
Lord Herogillj laughing, 1+ at London's lowest 
price* always." 

by Google 

Original from 



THE conditions of this puzzle are exceedingly simple. 
You are asked to draw as much as possible of the 
serpent in one continuous line. Starting where you 
like and ending where you like, just see how much of 
the serpent you can trace without once taking your 

the* letters at the turning points ought to spell out 
the name of a book that should be familiar in every 
British household. What is the name of that book ? 

pencil off the paper or going over the same line twice. 
An artful person might suggest a way of dodging 
the condition of going over a line twice by claiming 
that he drew half the width of the line going forward 
and the other half going back ; but he is reminded 
that a line has no breadth ! 


Farmer Gidsby sent his man Jabez to market with 
a flock of geese, telling him to sell all or any of them 
in the way he considered best. This was the report 
of Jabez on his return at night : " First of all I sold 
Mr, Jasper Brown half of the flock and half a goose 
over ; then I sold Farmer Woods a third of what 
remained and a third of a goose over ; then I sold 
Widow Winter a quarter of what remained and three- 
quarters of a goose over : and as I was coming home 
whom should I meet but Ned Tompkins, so we had a 
drink together at the Wheatsheaf, where I sold him 
exactly a fifth of what I had left, and gave him the 
fifth of a goose for the missus. These nineteen I could 
not get rid of at any price." 

Now, how many geese were there in Mr. Gidsby's 
flock when sent to market ? Not a single goose was 
divided, cut up, or inconvenienced in any way whatever. 


The puzzle in 
this case is to 
place the point of 
your pencil on one 
of the stars and 
strike out every 
letter once until 
you come back to 
the other star, 
without lifting 
your pencil. H 
you do this in 
the fewest pos- 
sible straight lines t 



























































416.— A CHARADE. 
Mv whole was once my fttst, but because he ceased 
to be so they put him under my second in Westminster 

417.— AN ENIGMA. 
A correspondent, wonders whether the following 
enigma from his pen will perplex our readers. Probably 
it will not give them much difficulty to solve : — 
I bought me for a trav'ling enterprise 
A travling-case of certain weight and size. 
Proceeding then, with help, to pack it tight, 
Will you believe me, but the thing grew light, 
And when the lot received its final touch, 
Its weight, with all my kit, was nothing much. 
What was this sac de voyage, French when new, 
Which with addition yet less weighty grew ? 

Solutions to Last MontlTs Puzzles. 



Here is the 
author's pretty 
solution. It will 
be seen that by 
placing the four 
extra dominoes in 
the positions 
shown a perfect 
swastika is formed 
within the frame. 

The seven words constructed from the anagram 
letters will form the following square : — 

411.— A CHARADE. 


Divide the given number by 12. If there is no 
remainder, it is the barrel No. 2 ; if it be 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 
6, or 7, the remainder indicates the number of barrel ; 
if the remainder exceed 7, deduct it from 14 and the 
result will be the barrel's number. Thus, 92,685 
divided by 12 leaves the remainder 9, which, deducted 
from 14, felh us that the squired barrel is No. 5. 

An Idyll of Occupied France. 

Verses ty 
Wallace Irwin. 

Drawings by 
Giuyaa AA^illiams. 

§m le habby rrmkps der Ckmerai yet 
Vm nl I dfr ojf&tu^d trm art met. 

'Ach, Himmel ! Vbt is* d*?t afcoudt ? 
Vy ifitfuU u yei dot branch upsptoudt ? 





£ nfl 

1*1 r*i 

<*© a 6 ? 

4 r^ h "l ^V 

* £^ 

*'Vort down to cut all fre« um pldin 
Dfr ordm madf, vy should rrmam 

Dfjf R 05 en 6m urn 7 Smwh undrrjtgfej 
Disgrace should be w Schrecklichkeit 

"By all dcr Hohtnz&liern line, 
Mi. Vithtlm and der Tight div me — 

'Dummkopf * On yem der s«vrd I dr^ic, 
Oiootr JiJfct' Jet free yOU dtd ntchl £fl<f 

,^r,n "p_(J J J— 

To Aid fvnprrtaJ Chcrmnny." 

by Google 

Dm off he strides — he Jui^ f m Xicc 
£(>! Rlif Sld'Ft fVdtC to <igiUxic 

Original from 



[We ihall be glad to receive Contributions to this section^ and to pay for such as are accepted.] 


NE of the company is chosen as footman and 
announces visitors in the following manner 3 — 
" Mr. and Mrs, Sota and Miss — — " 
Whoever first fills in the blank becomes footman* 
The word inserted muse indicate a son or daughter — as 
in above in stance t "Minnie Sota/* and must be a well- 
known word, geographical or otherwise, as chosen. 

The gmne causes much fun, so should be welcome 
in the&e strenuous times. 
Here are a few examples : — 

Ho . . . 

. Ida Ho. 

Chovy , , 

Ann Chovy. 


. Miss Ouri, 


Bella Donna, 

Tucket . 

. Nan Tucket, 

Vere . ■ 

Percy Vere, 


. Ssd Onica ► 

Full ,, 

Grace Full. 

Kesco , 

. Alf Reseo, 

Ryot , , 

Pat Rvot. 

Incense , 

. Frank Incense. 

Tant . . 

Milly Tant, 

fader , 

. PhilAnder 

Able * * 

Amy and 

, Honor Able- 


. Sam Ovar, 

Chief . 

. Miss Chief. 

TN the old days kt Straw Boys " were a terror in 
i Ireland — they had a '* captain " and each one 
was known by his number* They disguised them- 
selves with straw helmets and straw on their bodies 
and legs, and when they had a grudge a^niist anyone 
they took the opportunity of a wedding 
to go and "raise '* a row. which often 
ended in a party fight. They drank 
everything which was provided for the 
guests, and it was looked upon as a mark of 
disrespect to the house visited- Often the 
police had to attend weddings on their 
account* Nowadays this is all changed, 
and "Straw Boys " are considered one of 
the attractions at a wedding. They neither 
eat nor drink in the house, but all call upon 
the bride to dance. They rarely stay more 
than two hours and no *' rows " are per- 
mitted. They turn their coats inside out, 
disguise their voice, and wear a straw 
helmet similar to the one shown above, 


HERE is a photograph of a poster of a football 
match between Mr. Herbert Simms and Nine 
Carriers, which took place on Tuesday afternoon, 
June iStht tSSOj the proceeds being for the local 
hospital. Mr, Simms was a popular three-quarter, 
back at that rime, being known as u Simms the 


LAST month we set our readers 

following puzzle : — 





Mwmttii P 


Croun* of fee fcttltj 

B«tm aVttmhi t>n irk*. 

■■■:-■■ .■ 

g fO tOl HEK& 

-W is Wj3C*£ 

A. * P. Club, Mount Plcasaafc 





With one stroke of the pen change the above into a 
well-known line in Shakespeare- 
Here is the answer : — ■ 

Dodger/' as he was a very elusive player* The result 
of the match was four goals one try to four goals, Mr. 
Simms' thus beating the Nine Carriers by one try. 
Mr. Simms has long ago retired, but is still iu good 
health.— Mr. R. Srubbs, May man Lane, Batley, Yorks, 


'In little room confining mighty men." 

IIenkv V,, Epilogue. 

Last Month's Bridge Problem Solution. 

Trick 1.— A leads ace of hearts I 

Thick 2. — A leads king of diamonds, B wins with 

Trick 3, -B leads small diamond, A trumps with 
king I 

Trick 4.— A leads ^ of trumps, won by Z* (B throws 

Trick 5. — £ must lead a spade, and B wins next two 
tricks in that suit, and it follows that according to Y's 
discard tithe 1 ; H wins W> last diamond or A makes two 

dubs uNi^TforafflifflSr'" 9 of tn,mpi 









SSfcS^'^feiN STORIES y % 



t Walking on Turf 

Gives a light, springy sensation— 

you feel you could walk for miles 

and never grow tired. Wood-Milne 

Rubber Heels give just the same 

$ pleasant feeling. Even the hardest 

,< pavements seem soft as turf beneath 

I the feet. Wood - Milne Rubber 

% Heels double the life of shoes 

$ and halve boot- repairers' bills. 


J 'RuJbJberJieefs 

» Made in all shapes and sizes. 
I Stocked and fixed by all bootmakers. 


See name Wood - Milne Heels on 
every pair 

R i •"' 

'h^m^um^m^^mmm^A/m!sm^/ > -/-^m^m-A mmm/& 

^y^c v \\ k ? ; 

Meat Dinners every Jay 

Send out *unv for a pound tin of En-Ox ; get 
down your cookery book* and you'll r*;dv« 
how EASl' it is to provide a substantial dinner 
— tvKry day— that is nutrition*, full of meat 
value, and economical. 


" Tkt Strength of tkt Ox" 

The Extra Ration. 

Excellent for qulLnarj uw — In umivt. rij»il« K 
fHLL*rft. "mttoti." *tr., with the uMitinn of brawl- 
erumlsaor t*i(jiW#i for HviiRirliultl use, and for 
Kes i n iit* nt H-. Cain in 11 11 ft L 
KluIh-hv ITnntarffllt eH"„ w* 
strongly recumnisiifl the I -l"b- 
Lina. which «i* ii«rliri3ljirl,v*oo- 
roniirnl. i-untuiTiiiijf * tlm*« 
the tubas' co n te» t ft. 5. .1 . / - ti 
\-ib. hn*,B-i aim in wit-j>otffrtf* 

0r»r*» and PVwjiioh f«*il*rt 

Mjiniifiirtiind by 
1k-0i Ca. ImJjmhw. 



Economise Shipping 


Cider saves foreign tonnage. 

A true British 

beverage, made 
tolely from the 
finest apples 
grown in Here- 
ford and Devon. 
Its clean and dis- 
tinctive flavour 
is the result of 
nearly seventy 
years* experi- 
ence and scien- 
tific research. 

WM. EVANS ADO. , Ltd. (Dflpt. 8.\ HEREFORD. 


EttaNUh&i ISM 


Contents for August, 1918. 

The right* of translation and reproduction in the contents of this number are strictly reserved. 



Major Adolphe Abrahams. 








SINCE 1850 





THE PROBLEM CLUB. IX.— The Alibi Problem 


may edginton ... 
e. r. punshon 

a. conan doyle ._ 
Winifred Graham 

a symposium 
p. g. wodehouse 
henry e. dudeney 
leonard larkin... 
r. s. warren bell 
Barry Pain 








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Win. Hoilins or Co.. Ltd. (Trade only)* 122a, Vtyeila House. Newgate Street, London, E.C.1. 



{$€$ page 85.) 


Vol. 56. 

AUGUST, 1918. 

No. 332. 

Miss Doris's " Raffles." 


Illustrated ty ^A^. H. D. Koerner and Dudley Tennant. 

WANTED — Thoroughly efficient safe-breaker 
immediately. One used to taking risks. Re- 
muneration ample / apply at once, please. Address 
Box 2430, "Blade." 

HE advertisement was tucked 
away inconspicuously in the 
lower corner of one of the pages 
of a morning newspaper. Biackie 
read it once — then again, slowly, 
word by word, with steadily- 
increasing interest. Fine wrink- 
ling lines, half of perplexity, 
half of amusement, showed at the corners of his 
eyes and across his forehead. 

" - Wanted, a safe-breaker,' " he repeated, 
scarcely aware he spoke aloud. " Well,' I've 
. played tie game for many a long year, but that's 
a new one to me." 

" Waated, a what ? " asked Mary, wife and 
. pal of tie man whose adventures as a second 
."Raffles" were part of the police-records in a 
hundred cities. 

" A safe-breaker/' Biackie answered. " It's 
an extraordinary advertisement, even more 
extraordinarily worded, if one reads between the 
lines. Listen ! " 

He read the advertisement aloud slowly. 
Mary laughed as he finished. 

" There's an opportunity for some hard- 
working burglar temporarily out of employment," 
she said. " No references required, either. It 
is a curious advertisement." 

Then after a moment's pause she added : — 
" I. wonder why she wants a safe-breaker ? " 
Biackie 's eyes lighted with admiring approval 
as he noted Mary's choice in personal pronouns. 
" You see it just as I do," he said. " A woman 
did write that ad. — an utterly inexperienced 
oman too ingenuous to suspect that the last 
ling in this world any ordinary burglar will do 
to answer it. It's a typically impractical 
ninine inspiration born of some desperately 
ssing necessity. The lady's S.O.S, call 
rests me exceedingly. I wonder who and 
tt she is ? ' Efficient ' and ' Remuneration ' — 
3C terms suggest a correct sense of word values. 
,y eliminate the sordid and illiterate absolutely. 
it is in the use of ' please ' that the writer 
k:< 9 ad. reveals her sex and her dire need. No 

man would conclude an invitation to a safe- 
breaker with ' please/ Mary, I'm going to answer 
that ad." 

Mary, with the thought of the present peace 
and security of their apartment in her mind, 
sighed but made no protest. She knew the man 
she loved neither would nor could resist the lure 
of such a curiously novel adventure — for love of 
adventure rather than cupidity is, after all, the 
real force that chains the master-minds of the 
powers that prey to the crooked game. 

Biackie 's reply to the ad. was tersely business- 
like. It informed " Box 2430, Blade" that 
communication with a safe-breaker might be 
opened by inserting a reply in the Blade, giving 
a 'phone-number to be called at six the following 
evening. It concluded with this paragraph : — 

" As you may consider it imprudent to publish 
a 'phone-number, I suggest that you add one to 
each figure in your real number. For instance, 
if your 'phone is Main 684, your reply should read 
Main 795." 

In the Blade next morning Biackie, eagerly 
expectant as a boy on Christmas morning, 
found this ad. : — 

" West Q367. Please do not fail" 

The eager, nervous voice that answered him 
over the wire was ample proof he had the right 
connection. It was the voice of a young girl, 
he judged instantly — a voice whose delicacy 
of tone even in its -obvious excitement proved 
the correctness of his original conclusion that he 
was within touch of a mystery worth probing 
to an end he was unable to guess. 

" Are you the man who answered my ad. ? " 
the voice queried, anxiously; and then without 
waiting for an answer : "I do hope you are. 
I was afraid you might change your mind and 
not call me, and I must have a safe — a man of the 
kind I specified, at once. You are that kind, 
aren't you ? " 

Biackie wasted a smile on the unseeing 'phone- 
transmitter. The interrogation and the voice 
together dispelled a last supercautious doubt. 

" I obtained your number from your reply," he 

" I am so glad," said the voice, eagerly. " I 
must see you at once — somewhere in town — but 
where ? " 

There was at Jong pause, Biackie, waiting in 




silent amusement, refrained deliberately from 
offering a solution. He was curious to learn 
where and how a girl, well-bred and refined, 
would find it possible to meet an unknown 
safe-breaker for the purpose of employing his 
professional services. 

" Where shall I say ? It must be public. 
What shall I do ? " the anxious voice demanded 
at last. " I don't want you to misunderstand, 

but — but " Then, with the frankness of 

utter desperation : " Don't you see that until I 
have seen you, I can't possibly decide where I can 
see you ? " 

Blackie laughed — aloud this time. To him 
the unknown girl's predicament was perfectly 
plain. She couldn't guess wliether the safe- 
breaker her mysterious necessity demanded might 
be expected to be a beetle-browed individual in 
frayed trousers and a tattered coat or one who 
would pass muster in a crowd. 

" I think I understand," he said. " Being un- 
familiar with the appearance and taste in clothes 
of men of a certain profession, you are unable 
to determine where we can talk without attracting 
undue attention. I suggest Morton's," he 
added, naming a restaurant of the staidest repu- 

" Yes, yes — Morton's will do perfectly," came 
back over the wire. " If you know Morton's, 
that assures me it is exactly the right place. 
Will you come at once ? It is dreadfully im- 
portant to save even minutes."' 

" I will be there in half an hour," Blackie 
replied. " For whom shall I inquire ? " 

" For Miss Macon — Miss Doris Macon," the 
voice informed him. " You won't fail to come ?" 

" Certainly not," answered Blackie, as he hung 
up the receiver. 

Blackie found Miss Doris Macon at one of the 
alcove tables in Morton's main dining-room. 

" It is kind of you to come to town to oblige 
me." she said, extending a dainty hand with the 
air of one greeting an intimate acquaintance, as 
Jules, the head-waiter, seated her visitor. 

" On the contrary, the kindness lies in your 
permission which allows me to do so," answered 
Blackie, catching the cue contained in a remark 
evidently intended for the waiter's ears. Then, 
that functionary having -withdrawn, Blackie 
gazed across the top of the menu in his hand and 
met the eyes of the girl who needed the services of 
a safe-breaker. 

The two looked at each other in silent, intent, 
frankly undisguised appraisement. 

Doris Macon saw in the safe-breaker a well- 
tailored, oldishly young man with the clean-cut 
facial lines of a coldly practical business faculty 
and the keenly penetrating but indefinably intro- 
spective eyes of a student and dreamer— eyes 
which, as they studied hers, she knew were 
probing and cataloguing her with inevitable 

Blackie saw a young girl slender and decidedly 
attractive, though her appeal, he thought, lay 
rather more in mental than physical charm. Her 
eyes were dark, serious, and more than a little 
frightened, and he saw in them the inspired light 
of an imagination that had conceived a great 


adventure and undertaken it courageously for 
a great stake. She was well but not expensively 
dressed, and Blackie, in the glance that took in 
every detail of her appearance, noted that the 
only jewel she wore was a solitaire diamond on 
the third finger of her left hand. 

Without a spoken word each read the other's 
approving verdict. In recognition of this in- 
tuitive understanding, the girl smiled. 

" You're not a detective or a newspaper 
reporter, or just a curious busybody like the silly 
meddlers who have tried to-day by the dozen to 
discover who I am and why I advertised as I did," 
she said, eagerly. " I'm sure you're not, now that 
I've seen you. And if you really are a man who 
can open a safe, you are the only one of that kind 
among more than fifty who answered my ad., 

Mr. " She stopped, waiting for him to 

supply the missing name. 

" Suppose we say Smith. It has the advan- 
tage of being easy to remember," said Blackie, 
smilingly. " And thank you for your quick 
decision that I am neither a reporter nor a detec- 
tive — particularly the latter. I assure you I am 

The girl, still leaning forward, clasped her 
fingers before her in an unconsciously appealing 
gesture and spoke low and hurriedly. 

" Mr. Smith," she said, " I know all this must 
seem impossibly strange and bizarre to you. It's 
so terribly unconventional — my advertising as 
I did, my meeting you like this. I've never 
thought before that I could do such a 
thing " 

" That was evident from the first word you 
spoke to me over the phone," interjected Blackie. 

" But now I'm forced to adopt desperate 
means in a desperate crisis," the girl continued, 
ignoring the interruption. " It's a last forlorn 
hope, this that I'm doing to-night, and oh, Mr. 
Smith, so much — so very, very much — depends 
on it. Will you help, please ? " 

The earnestness of this strange young woman's 
even stranger plea was beyond question. 

" Hadn't you better tell me precisely what is 
required to remedy this desperate difficulty of 
which you speak ? " suggested Blackie. 

Her voice dropped to a whisper. 

" There's a wall-safe in the study of a 
certain residence. In it is something that 

we " Quickly she corrected herself and 

altered the plural pronoun, a faint, confused flush 
dyeing her cheeks. " Something that I must 
have ! I want you to open that safe for me 
to-night. I will pay you well for it." 

" Just what is this extremely important 
Something within the safe that interests you ? 
Money — jewels — papers ? " he asked at last. 

" No, no, nothing like that. I'm not a thief." 

" Then the contents of this safe belong to you?" 

The girl hesitated in evident indecision. 

" Not exactly — that is, not legally. But 
morally we have a right to them — the very best 
right in the world." There was the surety of 
absolute conviction in her words. 

Blackie laughed whole-heartedly. 

" I must confess that I also am a disciple of the 
moral-right doctrine as distinguished from legal 




right," he said. " But that's a deep subject and 
a dangerous one. There's quite a serious pre- 
judice among the police and the public against 
assuming the possession of property owned solely 
by moral right. This interesting Something you 
own morally but not lawfully is — what ? " 

"You mustn't ask me that. I can't tell you — 
not even if I knew, and I really don't." 

" You don't know what it is you wish taken 
from the safe you ask me to break open for you? " 
cried Blackie, now truly surprised* 

The girl shook her head. 

" I do not," she said. " I only know that 
whatever is in that safe, we must have at any cost 
and at any risk." 

Blackie settled back in his chair and waited 
while their dinner was served. 

" After this, nothing you may say or do will 
surprise me," he observed, when the waiter was 
safely out of hearing. " You advertise for a 
safe-breaker ; you dine with him ; you offer him 
a huge price to open a safe ; and the safe being 
successfully opened, you tell me your plan is to 
take from it something to which you assert a 
moral right — though you haven't an idea what 
you will find. Have I stated your rather 
astounding proposition correctly ? " 

The girl made a slight despairing gesture. 

" Correctly, yes, but so terribly analytically, 
so terribly unfeelingly," she said, her former 
hopefulness slumping sharply at Blackie's coldly 
practical summing up of the situation. " I 
know it's strange. I know it's incomprehensible ; 
but oh, Mr. Smith, please, please don't deny my 
request. So much is at stake — so very much 
more than anyone who doesn't know can possibly 

She laid two tiny hands on the table, palms 
upward, in a movement irresistibly appealing. 

" Before I saw you," she continued, " I was 
almost hopeless. I 'm only a girl and not worldly- 
wise, but I know enough to realize how such a 
proposition as mine must sound to any ordinary 
man, whether he be a safe-breaker or a banker. 
But when I saw you, I began to hope again* I 
began to think that a wonderful piece of fortune 
might have sent me the one man in a thousand 
who would listen — the one man in a thousand with 
imagination and understanding enough to know 
that no girl like me would attempt what I have 
without being so sure she was right that she 
couldn't be wrong. You mustn't question me, 
for I can't answer without breaking faith. I 
can't explain except to say this matter is vital — 
vital to you as well as to me, if only you could 

Again she leaned toward him with all the 

xour of a woman pleading a sacred cause. 

' Won't you be that one man in a thousand, 

. Smith ? " she begged, softly, persuasively. 

iVon't you take me and my Arabian Nights 

iject on trust ? Won't you break open that 

e for me ? " 

' Permit me one question," he said, after a 
ment's thought. " Does the man for whom 
i*re doing this know you're doing it ? Has 
ordered or permitted it ? " 
No. no." she cried. " Bob doesn't know. 

Digitized byViOOgie 

He wouldn't let me if he did. He hasn't the 
faintest idea I have even thought of a plan." . 

She flushed deeply as she realized the com- 
pleteness of the admission into which the utterly 
unexpected question had surprised her. 

" How did you know ? " she added. " How 
did you guess there is — well — well — anyone ? '* 
Prettily concealing lashes hid her eyes. 

" Well," said Blackie, judicially, " my conclu- 
sion was based on the assumption that when any 
woman — particularly one wearing a diamond on 
her engagement-finger — undertakes such an im- 
possible quixotic adventure as this, the famous 
Sherlock Holmes axiom ' Cherchez la femme' 
necessarily must alter itself into 'Cherchez 
Vhomme* So Bob doesn't know, eh, and 
wouldn't permit it if he did ? " 

A negative shake of a bowed head was his only 

" Has it occurred to you, Miss Macon, that there 
are certain extremely practical and necessary 
precautions that are absolutely requisite to the 
success of such little nocturnal expeditions as the 
one you propose — always presuming one is not 
seeking long-term employment with the State ? " 
Blackie inquired. " For instance, men who open 
other men's safes must learn in advance the make 
and size of the strong-box to know what tools 
are necessary." 

" The safe's a fifteen-by-nfteen Babcock wall- 
safe of this year's make — the very latest," the 
girl answered without hesitation. 

" Good I " said Blackie, suppressing new sur- 
. prise. " And also it is advisable to know before- 
hand what electrical protection, if any, it has." 

" An ordinary Cummings burglar-alarm that 
rings if the combination dial is turned. One 
snip with a pair of pliers on the wires, and it's 

" You're the most practical impractical girl 
I've ever met, " said the burglar, with real admira- 
tion. " Perhaps you know, too, the habits 
of the household ? " 

" The owner will be away to-night. He's out 
of town and can't be back within twenty-four 
hours. That's why it must be done to-night. 
The servants retire early, particularly when their 
master is away. There is no one else in the 

Miss Macon's joy in the possession of this 
desired information was undisguised. 

" I thought of other things, too," she added. 
" Here's a plan of the study in which the safe 
is — arrangement of furniture and all." 

Then, delving again into her hand-bag, she 
produced a curiously complicated key. 

" And this is a duplicate latchkey to a side 
door which opens directly into the study from the 
street. I collected these things on the faint 
chance that I might find my one man in a thou- 
sand who is willing to open that safe for me," she 
concluded, with appealing wistfulness. 

Blackie glanced at the blueprint, ran his 
finger speculatively over the intricate ratchet 
of the proffered key, and then handed both back 
to the girl across the table, who waited, breathless 
with anxiety, for him to speak. He summoned 
the waiter and ipaid the bill. 




* - Miss Macon/' he said, " I want to thank you 
for the most interesting hour I can remember. 
You first amused me, then interested me, and now 
completely amaze me. I really wish I could aid 
you, but a girl as clever as you are is too clever 
not to realize that a proposition such as yours — 
one in which you ask a man to risk his liberty 
blindly — one that even may be a police-trap — 
one " ■ 

"But it isn't — it isn't," she cried, resentfully. 
" Surely you can't believe me capable of planning 
such perfidy against a man of whom I beg aid." 

" You are too clever not to realize that a propo- 
sition such as yours," repeated Blackie, imper- 
turbably, " is absolutely the most impossible, 
quixotic, reckless, foolhardy, and femininely 
impractical one I ever heard or expect to hear. 
Any man who would consider it is capable of 
walking into the penitentiary with eyes wide 

" You won't do it ? " she whispered, her voice 
breaking under the flood of disappointment that 
twept over her. " You won't do it — and you 
were my last chance ! " 

Tears showed on her lashes. 

" And so," Blackie went on, " because your 
proposition to me is all I have called it — and 
considerably more— I'll accept it." 

He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. 

" Miss Macon," he said, " I'm going to open 
that safe for you to-night." 

Doris Macon, her eyes still brimming with 
tears, forgot that young ladies accustomed td 
dining at Morton's do not clasp and squeeze their 
escorts' hands across public dining-tables. She 
caught Blackie's in hers and most undeniably 
and brazenly pressed them. 

11 You have saved all of us," she whispered, 
gently. " I knew you would be my one man in 
a thousand. Now, I've just one more request." 

Ten minutes of pleading by the girl— ten 
minutes of slowly weakening refusal by Blackie ; 
then with a gesture of resignation he capitulated. 

M Very well," he said. " I agree. Have it 
your own way." 

At a quarter before midnight Blackie loitered 
along a certain street, studying the passing stream 
of traffic with a casual but watchful eye. In an 
inner pocket was a two-ounce bottle of nitro- 
glycerine — " soup " to members of the craft that 
use it. In another pocket was a tin of mushy 
soap ; in still another pocket were a couple of 
fulminating caps and a coil of fuse. Slung be- 
neath his left arm was a revolver, heavy-barrelled, 
and equally efficacious as a bludgeon or firearm. 

He was waiting for Miss Doris Macon ; and as 
he waited, the night's events, past and to come, 
revolved in his mind as he sought futilely to 
grasp some loose thread that would be the starting 
point for a solution of the mystery that involved 

Her final demand had been that she should 
be permitted to accompany him and participate 
personally in breaking open the safe. 

It was unheard-of. and yet Instinctively 

he recognized that some driving necessity, 
not a whim, was responsible for the earnest, 
insistent plea to which, at last and reluctantly, 

he had acceded. To a professional burglar the 
expedition, outwardly at least; suggested no 
unusual hazards. But to a young girl — a girl 
of refinement and the sphere of life to which 
Doris Macon unmistakably belonged — the pos- 
sible consequences of the risk were ruinous. She 
admitted this, but persisted in her assertion that 
circumstances made it unavoidable. Somehow 
Blackie felt her judgment might be right. 

" One of two things is s true," he thought. 
" Either there is far more at stake to-night 
than even I suspect, or shfe is the victim of some 
black-hearted scoundrel who is sending a young 
girl to do a job he doesn't dare attempt himself. 
Either way, now that I've started, I'll see her 
through without harm." 

A handsome electric car swerved into the kerb 
and stopped. Blackie stepped toward it ; then 
as he glimpsed the person within, he hesitated 
in sudden suspicion. The figure was not the 
one he expected. He saw a capped and goggled 
driver in a long raincoat from beneath which 
he caught sight of slender legs unmistakably 
encased in trousers. 

As he stood irresolute for a second, the door of 
the car was swung open and a soft voice called 

" Get in,. Mr. Smith," it said. Unquestionably 
the voice was Miss Doris Macon's. 

Blackie entered the car, pulled the door shut, 
turned toward the girl deliberately, and inspected 
her from head to foot. 

She wore a motor-cap over a close-fitting, 
short-cropped wig. Huge goggles hid her eyes 
and all her face except the delicate curves of 
lips and chin. Heavy gloves covered her hands. 
As his eyes fell to the slim, trouser-covered legs 
that showed beneath the end of her long goat, 
she drew its concealing folds closer around her. 

" Don't," she commanded, turning her head 
to hide a deepening flush. " Please don't stare 
so. I know they're terrible, but they're necessary 
— just this once." 

" And still some people assert crime doesn't 
pay a man," said Blackie, as if speaking to 

As they turned into Broadway, Miss Macon was 
forced to check her car's speed sharply to avoid 
smashing into a suddenly slowing vehicle 

As the car sped on, neither of its occupants 
noted another car that now was following un- 
obtrusively a block behind. 

" We're almost there," said Miss Macon, 
twenty minutes after the town flare of light had 
faded behind them into the more modest illumina- 
tion of a residential section. 

" Good ! " said her companion, rousing himself 
from the reverie which had eliminated conversa- 
tion during the ride. " Drive past the house 
slowly but without stopping and point it out to 
me. I want to look it over and then take a glance 
at that professionally prepared blueprint you 

" That's the house — the corner one with the 
two entrances," she said, a moment later. 

" So that's where the study is, with the precious 
safe in it, eh i " the; burghx answered, glancing at 




the girl curiously with a queer, half-enlightened 
look in his eyes. " I think I recognize it," 

" You probably do, if you read the papers," 
Miss Macon said, and lapsed into silence. • 

Biackie turned again towards the house, 
memorizing each detail of its location and # 

" If you are right about the owner of that house 
being absent overnight, it looks decidedly easy," 
Biackie said. 

" He left this afternoon," said the girl." 

" He's not married ? You are sure there are 

no womenfolks in the house ? " queried Biackie. 

" Never," answered Miss Macon, " except 

occasionally when he gives the entertainments of 

which you probably have read." 

" Then half an hour after his servants are 
asleep, the absent gentleman's safe will be open 
and its contentsvin your hands." 

" It doesn't seem possible it really can be true, 
not even now when I know it is," cried the girl, 
her hands trembling on the steering-bar. " If 

we find what is in that room, Mr. Smith, it " 

She checked the revelation on her lips. 
" I wish I could tell you," she said, smiling her 
confidence to him. " If it were only my own 
secret, I would, but it concerns far bigger and 
graver things than either of us — things I have no 
right even to know, much less to tell." 

The residence was dark from cellar to garret. 
Biackie glanced at his watch. 

" Now we'll get to work," said Biackie. 
Under his instructions Miss Macon installed 
the car in the partial shelter of an alley- way half 
a street from their goal; then Biackie laid a 
fatherly hand on her arm. 

" Miss Macon," he said, gently, " you can be of 
much more service here in the car than inside 
the house. I'm likely to need this car in cir- 
cumstances in which seconds may mean escape 
or capture. If you will wait here, I'll bring you 
whatever is in that safe, unopened, exactly as it 
comes into my hands. There is no need for you 
to risk more, surely." 

" No, that won't do," the girl contradicted. 
" If we find what we want, it may be necessary 
for me to swear I took it from that safe with my 
own hands. I'm going with you, please." 
Biackie looked at her gloomily. 
" All right," he said. " Turn round, please." 
He knotted a handkerchief loosely round her 

" If anything happens while we are in the house 
— if we are interrupted in any way — slip that up 
over the lower part of your face," he instructed. 
" You mustn't be recognized as a woman, what- 
ever happens, and your mouth and chin would 
ny you." 

5 drew a pair of rubber hospital gloves from a 
beet and put them on. 

Keep on your gauntlets," he commanded, 
aly amateurs leave finger-prints, and we're 
1 professionals to-night." 
rom his coat pocket he drew a cap with a mask 
>ping from its visor. He doubled the mask 
of sight in the crown and put on the cap, 
wing his soft hat away in a pocket. Then he 
iw open his coat and examined the disclosed 

revolver and slipped it back into its holster. 
The girl shuddered as the light fell on the barrel 
of the weapon. 

" I pray you won't have to use that," she 

" So do I," said Biackie. " Well, we're ready. 
Come on. We'll walk once round the block and 
make a last inspection before we go in." 

As they crossed the street, the headlights 
of a car that had halted behind caught them in 
its glare for a second. 

" Another car has stopped," warned the girl, 
catching at his arm. 

" I saw it. It doesn't matter," said Biackie, 
without interest. 

Neither gave the second car another thought, 
though it was the one that had followed them, 
trailing behind throughout each of the devious 
turnings they had made during the night. 

Blackie's inspection of the house seemed to 
satisfy him. At the foot of the steps leading to 
the study door he paused. 

" When we are inside, don't speak or interfere 
or make the slightest noise, no matter what 
happens," he said to his amateur helper. " If I 
am interrupted or there is any alarm, don't wait 
for anything or anybody. Run for your car and 
get home without thinking of speed laws. 
Never mind me. I'll look out for myself. And 
also, while we're inside, obey me implicitly. Will 
you ? " 

" Yes, I promise," said the girl, between teeth 
that chattered in spite of herself. 

Biackie, with Miss Macon at his elbow, slipped 
up to the door with a step noiseless as a cat's. 
The room was dark as a tomb. The safe-breaker 
laid his ear over the keyhole and listened. Then 
with a touch as delicate as a musician's, he slipped 
the key into the lock and opened the door inch 
by inch without making a sound audible a yard 
away. With one foot on the threshold, he studied 
the room foot by foot with eyes that gradually 
pierced the darkness and ears ready instantly to 
detect the sound of breathing in its Stygian 

Sure* now that the room was empty, he stepped 
inside, motioned the girl in after him, and closed 
the door as carefully as he had opened it. He 
beckoned her to a chair and went over the room 
again, quickly, thoroughly, throwing the sharp 
rays of a fountain-pen flash-lamp here and there 
at intervals. Opposite the door through which 
they had entered was another, opening into a 
reception-hail. Biackie closed and locked this 
door with a master-key he selected from a bunch. 

The study had two bay-window alcoves, one at 
the front, the other at the side. Both were 
draped with portiires that hung partly across 
them in heavy folds. Taking Miss Macon's hand, 
he led her to the alcove nearest the street door 
and gently pushed her behind the concealing 

" Stay here," he whispered. She nodded. 

Then he turned his attention to the safe. It 
was built in the wall opposite the alcoves. He 
studied it inch by inch with his flash-lamp and 
then turned the tiny gleam on the panelled 
woodwork beside it sirid continued his scrutiny. 


8 4 


irresistible force of the explosive behind it tore 
it from its place. He then crossed the room to 
his trembling companion and laid a reassuring 
hand on her arm. 

" Everything is ready/* he whispered* 
" Don't be frightened, and don J t move or make 
a sound after the explosion. Above 
all, don't scream. There will be a 
noise no louder than a firecracker, 
a pufl of smoke — and the door will 
fall into that chair. Then we 11 
take what we want and go/* 

Evidently he found what he was seeking, for 
he knelt and ripped up the heavy carpet where it 
touched the wall. Beneath it two wires appeared, 
leading down from the woodwork beside the safe* 
These he severed, one by one, with the greatest 
care; then he rose and went to work. on the 
safe itself with the dexterous surety of a master- 
workman „ 

Watching breathlessly from her hiding- pi ace, 
Miss Macon saw him carefully cement the crack 
round the sale door with the mushy so rip he to:jk 
from his pocket. Next, at the upper left-hand 
comer, he fashioned a tiny soap-cup opening 
into the one spot in the crack about the door 
not yet made air-tight. He drew out a bottle 
and with great caution measured out the liquid 
drop by drop into a graduated ^lass such as 
druggists use. The contents of this glass he 
poured into the soap-cup and watched it soak 
slowly through the crack into the safe. When the 
last drop had disappeared, he fixed a cap and 
a piece of fuse over the crack through which 
the explosive had vanished, and fastened it in 
its place securely with more soap. Then he 
inspected his work carefully with the ft ash- 1 amp 
and seemed satisfied. 

Btackie next moved a large upholstered arm- 
chair up before the safe, placing it carefully to 
catch the strong-box door noiselessly when the 


He returned to the fuse dangling from the safe 
door, struck a match, and lighted it. 

With the hypnotic fascination of one looking 
into the eyes of a creeping beast about to spring, 
the girl watched the spitting flame crawl upward 
toward the cap. Blackie, with a satisfied glance 
over his w r ork, crossed the room and took refuge 
in the second alcove as the fuse burned sputtcr- 

The fire was within a couple of inches of the 
cap, and Miss Ma am was nerving herself for the 
ordeal of the explosion, when quick steps as- 
cended the stone stairs outside the door through 
which they had entered, A key sounded in the 
lock. The whistled air of a gay Viennese waltz - 
tunc floated in from without the door 

One quick glance at the half-inch of remaining 
fuse showed Blackie the impossibility of pre- 
venting the explosion- He sprang across the 
room to the frankly terror-stricken girh 

" Here comes the man who should be away." 
he whispered. " He's just in time to see us 
open his safe. Keep absolutely still and out of 
sii^lit, and leave him to me," 

He darted i o his own hiding-place as the door 




was flung open and a square -shouldered, blondly 
handsome man of early middle age stepped into 
the room and switched on the lights. 

There was a dull flash, a sharp explosion — and 
the door of the safe bulged outward and dropped 
exactly in the centre of the chair set to receive 
it ; an acrid, choking cloud of smoke rolled out 
from within the safe and drifted across the room. 

The new-comer staggered backward and reeled 
against the wall as the explosion flashed in his 
face- Then, finding himself unhurt, he spat out 
a fierce oath and glanced once toward the safe. 
Sight of the wreckage seemed to madden him 
beyond the possibility of coherent thought or 
action. He looked quickly about the room, 
and seeing no intruders, he sprang to a massive 
phonograph that stood in a comer, threw open 
its doors, and peered within. 

" Robbers I Police I Police 1 *' he screamed, 
in a voice calculated to rouse the whole block, 
" Fritz I Siegel ! Come, come quickly. 

Robbers 1 " 

There was a rush, of hurrying feet beyond the 
locked door that led into the rest of the house, and 
heavy fists began to hammer on its panels* The 
blond man dashed about the room, throwing 
open desk-doors , p sweeping papers and books to 
fc the floor, and screaming more loudly each moment 
as he sought to reassure himself his property was 
still intact. 

SPITTING JETS OF Fl.x\MK IkoM MORE r 1 1 A ■: ' ■ 

Blackie, watching from behind the portier$ 
with every muscle tense , waited with clubbed 
revolver-barrel for the infuriated house-owner to 
come within reach. 

Meanwhile the smoke-cloud had drifted to and 
enveloped the hi ding -pi ace of Miss Macon* 
Nothing is more overpoweringly choking than 
the f u mes of ex ploded n i tro - g 1 y ec ri ne , I ne vi tab! y 
the cowering girl coughed. 

The sound caught the quick ear of the raging 
man whose unexpected return was responsible 
for the conttetemps. He sprang to the portidras 
and dragged them to the floor, revealing a masked 
and boyish figure holding a plaything revolver 
in a shaking hand, 

" Put up your hands/' commanded the 
suddenly exposed burglar, in a surprisingly 
quaking voice. 

" Gott in Himinrf f A woman t " cried the 
owner of the house, for though the figure at hrst 
glance was youthfully masculine, the voice 
unmistakably was feminine. 

The blond man leaped at Miss Macon and 
seized the wrist of the hand that held the revolver* 
One quick wrench, and it was a napped from her 
fingers and fell to the floor. With his other hand 
the man reached for her throat, and as she in- 
stinctively lowered her head, his heavy fingers 
clutch 1 xl her cap, A wrench — then cap and wig 

were torn from her head, 
leaving the girl unmasked 
and with her own long 
and dishevelled hair 
streaming about her, to 
face the man she would 
have robbed* 

Just then Blackie'a 
re vol ve r-barre I crashed 
solidly against the man's 
skull from behind. He 
groaned ; his knees 
sagged ; and he crum- 
pled up on the floor no 
longer an adversary to 
be reckoned with. His 
fingers still tightly 
clutched the gill's cap 
and wig. 

Black ie stooped over 
the form for the fraction 
of a second to make sure 
he was safely uncon- 
scious. In the hall -way 
the shouting servants 
were now battering at 
the study door with an 

With a cry to the girl 
to run to the car, Blackie 
turned and saw her at the 
safe frantically seizing 
packages of papers, 
which she thrust into her 

In spite of their desper- 
ately imminent danger, 

e revolver FQ^FrWrfll frdlfl smiIed at her un ~ 
kekt To THHiK c§r. daunted courage and 




determination. He made a hurried circuit of the 
room as if seeking something Lost — then called 
again for her to go. 

" I will. I've everything now," she answered, 
and ran into the street, Biackie following, as the 
study door was burst open and the servants 
poured pell-mell into the room. 

Spitting jets of flames from more than 'one 
revolver followed the fugitives as they fled across 
the street and down to their car. Farther away, 
Biackie heard the rat-a-tat-tat on the pavement 
of a policeman's stick sending out the S.O.S. 
hurry-call that in five minutes would have the 
whole district hemmed in and wagon-loads of 
reserves on the way to the scene. 

He seized the girl, lifted her bodily into her car, 
and leaped after her. 

" Drive with every ounce of power in this car/* 
he cried. 

The car shot out of the alley and down the 

" Two streets down, then two across town," 
commanded Biackie, as they gained speed. " A 
zigzag course and more speed if you can." 

He glanced at the girl. Her'unbound hair was 
flying behind her. Her raincoat was ripped to 
her waist, revealing a woman's shirtwaist above 
boy's trousers. She was without hat or goggles. 

" If a policeman gets one glimpse of you, Miss 
Macon," he said, smiling grimly, " he won't have 
to guess who we are and what we've just done. 
He'll know. Can't you get more speed ? " 

" The control is wide open," she gasped, 
huskily. " Isn't there a car chasing us ? I 
thought I saw the machine that was standing 
near the house start as we did." 

" Yes, there's a car coming behind us. Run 
away from it if you can." 

They had rounded several corners when Biackie 
noticed that their speed was sharply diminishing. 

" You're slowing down," he cried. " Don't 
lose your nerve." . 

" No, no, but the car won't run as it should. 
It's losing power every second." 

She turned a ghastly white face toward him 
as the crushing realization of the cause of the 
trouble flashed into her mind. 

" I told my garage man to charge the batteries 
this afternoon. He hasn't done it," she confessed. 

Biackie glanced behind them. 

" Whirl round this next corner, drive to the 
kerb, and stop. We can't travel in this machine 
a moment longer." 

" Oh, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault," the 
girl sobbed. 

" Don't worry. Do as I tell you," Biackie 
commanded, peremptorily. 

Miss Macon obeyed, and the car stopped beside 
the kerbstone in a street as yet unalarmed by 
the uproar. Almost as they stopped, the 
pursuing machine whirled round the corner and 
came to a standstill beside them with a sharp 
grinding of brakes. 

" Let us in quick, Mary," said Biackie to the 
woman at the wheel. This car's out of petrol. 
It always pays to have a safety anchor or two 
out when one plays this game, doesn't it ? " 

Mary without a word threw open the door. 

by Google 

Biackie caught Miss Macon in his arms and 
lifted her in, tossing a package after her. He 
took one quicjc glance over the deserted car, then 
sprang in beside the girl. 

" We're off, Mary," he said. " Zigzag into 
town and remember you'll have to beat the police 
or they'll be holding us up before we can get 

Mary nodded, and the car leaped forward and 
shot out into the night. 

Ten minutes later, with half-a-dozen streets 
between them and the riot from which they were 
fleeing, Biackie told Mary to slow down. For 
the first time since abandoning the car he looked 
across toward the girl who was the cause of the 
nearly disastrous expedition. Miss Macon was 
huddled against the cushions with the papers 
taken from the safe spread in her lap. As 
Biackie turned to her, she dropped her head across 
her arms and moaned heartbrokenly. 

" What's wrong ? " Biackie asked. " The 
trouble is all over." 

The girl shook her head. 

" It isn't. It hasn't even begun," she sobbed. 
" What I counted on finding, what I have risked 
everything to get, isn't here. There are nothing 
but worthless old bills and accounts and receipts 
among these papers." 

She raised a white, frightened face. 

" I've ruined the man I love," she said, 
poignant anguish burdening every word. 
" They'll find my car and identify it. They have 
my cap and wig. Captain von Hoffmeier will 
recognize me too, for he saw my face as he pulled 
off my mask. This will ruin Mr. Melchoir, for 
we are engaged, and no one will, ever believe I 
planned all this myself." 

She clasped her hands beseechingly. 

" Oh, Bob, Bob," she sobbed, " what have I 
done 1 I only wanted to help you. I was so 
sure I would find the proof you needed, and now 
I've ruined you and wrecked your career. Why 
did I do it ? Why did I do it ? " 

She sank down, hiding her face in the cushions. 

" Drive straight home, Mary," said Biackie. 
" We three have started something that will have 
to be finished somehow." 

The hour of the night and an automatic lift 
combined to make it possible to smuggle the 
dishevelled Miss Macon unnoticed into Biackie 's 

" Now, Miss Macon," Biackie began, the 
moment the door closed after them, " it seems 
that, with the best intentions in the world, we 
three have managed to make matters worse 
instead of better for someone to-night." 

" A hundred times worse I " the girl said. 
" Bob's instructions were positive that no overt 
act against Hoffmeier must be committed without 
conclusive evidence of what we know but can't 
prove. They will dismiss him from the Service 
disgraced for what has happened to-night." 

" Bob's instructions come from headquarters, 
do they ? I've thought so ever since I recognized 
the house we entered to-night. Your Bob 
Melchoir, I suppose, is Robert L. Melchoir of the 
foreign division of the Secret Service ? " 

" Yes," she said. " I might as well tell you. 

Original from 



for you've guessed it, anyway, and besides, 
somehow I feel as if I had known you folks all 
my life and could trust you absolutely, even 
though we met but last evening." 

" This raid on Captain von Hoffmeier's safe 
concerns international affairs, of course," said 
Biackie. " His nationality and military career 
make that obvious." 
The girl nodded. 

" Exactly what proof did you hope to obtain 
to-night ? I don't ask from curiosity. There 
may be a way out yet. Don't be afraid to speak, 
for that's the only possible chance now." 
Miss Macon looked at him in silent indecision. 
" I'll tell you," she said at last, " though I 
can't see how anything can help now. The 
proof we wanted was evidence that instructions 
for burning munition-plants and factories and 
the like are issued from the German Embassy to 
the underlings who carry them out." 

" How does it happen that you are in possession 
of such knowledge ? " 

" The matter, so far as it concerned Captain 
von Hoffmeier, one of the chief German propa- 
gandists here, was placed in Bob's hands," she 
explained. " He and I are to be married, and 
often when puzzled he has talked his cases over 
with me and I have been able to help him. He 
always says I find ways of solving matters no 
man could ever think of. This has been his 
greatest case, and we've talked it over again and 

" Bob dared not raid Von Hoffmeier's house 
without having absolutely definite knowledge of 
what he would find. I could, and because I 
thought I knew the proof we sought was in that 
safe, I advertised for you. The rest you know." 
" If you had that proof, it would solve the 
whole muddle," said Biackie. " That would 
make it possible for Melchoir to assume responsi- 
bility for what happened to-night, wouldn't it ?" 
" Surely ; but we haven't the proof, and now 
there's no hope we ever will get it," the "girl 
replied, wearily. 

Biackie picked up a package he had carried 
from the car and tossed into a chair. It contained 
a dozen or more phonograph-record discs. 

" Do these mean anything to you, Miss 
Macon ? " he asked. " I took them from the 
German's talking-machine after I struck him 

She shook her head sadly. 
" I know about them. They came from an 
underling in the German Embassy, but they are 
just ordinary records," she said. " They have 
been sending packages of records back and forth 
for a long time, and at first Bob suspected them, 
but the parcels were opened in the post-offtc , 
and nothing wrong was found. Bob even had 
them played to make sure they hadn't been 
tampered with." 

" There . is something wrong with them," 
asserted Biackie. 

" How do you know ? " she cried, with new 

" Captain von Hoffmeier himself told me." 
*' Captain von Hoffmeier told you ? " she 
repeated, incredulously. 

by LiOOglC 

" Yes — by rushing first of all to his phonograph 
cabinet to see if these records were safe after the 
explosion. He scarcely gave the safe a glance. 
Why ? Obviously because the only thing he 
feared to lose was in the phonograph and not in 
the safe. The proof you want lies right here in 
my lap," concluded Biackie. 

" He did rush to the phonograph ! I remember 
that too," cried the girl, with rising excitement. 

" Yes, and because he did, I emptied that 
music-machine completely. I even took the 
sound-box on it while you were clearing out the 
sale. Somewhere in this pile is what you want. 
Our task is to find how it is hidden. We'll try 
one of these records on our machine — which, by 
the way, happens to be a Warwick, the same as 

Biackie put on the top record and started the 
motor. The strains of a Hungarian dance filled 
the room and continued to their conclusion 
without a false note. He tried the rest, one after 
another, with the same result. Indisputably 
the records seemed only the commercial article 
purchasable anywhere. 

" You see," said Doris, hopelessly, " there's 
nothing wrong with them." 

" But there is," asserted Biackie, undismayed 
by the failure. " I know there is. We haven't 
discovered the secret — that's all. Let me study 
this thing out." 

He examined each record with minute care. 
He inspected the covers that held them. 

" Have these been tested for invisible writing 
of all kinds ? " he asked. 

" Every one of them," said the girl. 

Biackie cast them aside and picked up the 
sound- box taken from Von Hoffmeier's machine. 

" This box isn't used for this sort of record," 
he observed. " It's a Bathe sound-box, and these 
are all Conqueror records. The Warwick plays 
either kind by changing sound-boxes. It's 
strange, when I think it over, that he should have 
had this Bathe sound-box on the machine and 
ready for use when there is not one Bathe record 
in his whole collection. That's more than 

He turned the sound-box over and over, 
studying it speculatively. The needle which 
follows the grooves of the records in reproducing 
music caught his eyes, and he jumped to his feet 
and dug out the Bathe sound-box from his own 

" Look ! " he cried. " All Bathe records are 
played with needles with a round sapphire point. 
This needle of Hoffmeier's is sharper than any I 
ever saw, and it has no sapphire point. I'll put 
it under a microscope and have a better look." 

" Oh, if it only might be true ! " cried Miss 
Macon, jumping to her feet and peering over his 
shoulder while Mary, equally excited, pressed 
forward across the table. 

" It has a sapphire point," cried Biackie, after 
one look through the magnifying glass, " but it's 
a point finer than the finest pin-point. Miss 
Macon, I think we have it ! This needle was 
never made to play any commercial record ever 
manufactured. We'll try it on Mr. Captain von 
Hoffmeier's collection." 


:ead of the strains of captivating dance HTSIC THAT HAD FOLLOWED THE PREY 

He fitted Von Hoffmeier's sound-box to his 
machine, put on the same Hungarian -dance 
record, and started the motor, 

ad of the strains of captivating dance 
music that had followed the previous trial, a 
. e Teutonic voice began to speak in German. 
" Oh 1 Oh ! " cried both wocxen, together, 
* You've got it," 

" What is he saying ? Do you understand 

German? Tell me, teJl me," cried :■•' 

i ry stooped and kissed her husband with a 
proud light in her eyes. 

*' Good old boy ! " she said, fondly. " You've 
solved the mystc r 

Blackie, list i the commanding 

that spoke irons within the machine, gi ■ 



" Do you understand it ? " again cried the 
young girl, unable to restrain her overmastering 
excitement. " What is he saying ? " 

" I don't get it all," said Blackie, even more 
gravely. " My German is too rusty, but I 
understand enough to know you must call 
Melchoir on the 'phone and get him up here 

" I'll get him," cried Dori§, wild with happiness. 
" I know his private number. Oh, isn't this the 
most wonderful thing that ever happened I " 

" How did they do it ? " asked Mary, while 
Miss- Macon was frantically pleading with the 
central office to hurry her connection. " How 
is it possible to put two separate and distinct 
records on a single disc-surface ? " 

" Now that we know," said Blackie, " it's so 
simple I wonder we didn't think of it before. 
These Conqueror records are lateral-cut — that is, 
the sound-waves are made on the sides of the 
tiny grooves that guide the needle. The Bathe 
records are just the opposite. They are vertical 
cut, the sound-waves being on the bottom of the 
grooves on which the sapphire needle rests. 
Consequently, if you etch vertically cut sound- 
waves with an instrument so fine that the lateral- 
wave needle can't reach down to them, you get 
only the music originally stamped on the records 
— when you .use a Conqueror needle and box. 
But when you use a sound-box adjusted for 
vertical waves, with a sapphire point so tiny it 
reaches to the bottom of the groove, you get the 
secret messages concealed there, without one 
note of the-original music, 

••Quite an idea that, Mary I And I never 
should have thought of touching these records 
if Von Hoffmeier himself hadn't tipped me. 
It took a far better brain than his to work out 
this scheme ; that's certain." 

*' For that dear little girl's sake I am thankful 
now you answered her ad.," said Mary, kiss- 
ing him again. 

" And so am. I for my own as well as for her 
sake," he answered. " She has given me a most 
interesting and satisfactory evening — an evening 
well worth remembering." 

Within half an hour Bob Melchoir, Secret Ser- 
vice agent, was at the door of Blackie 's apartment. 
Doris admitted him and threw herself into his 
aims in a burst of hysterically happy tears. 

" What's all this about, Doris ? " he demanded, 
suspiciously, as he saw Blackie and Mary . ' ' What 
have you been doing, and why are you here at this 
hour of the night ? " 

*' First you must meet my safe-breaker and his 
wife, and then I'fl tell you," she promised. 

" Your safe-breaker, eh ? " he repeated, 
blankly. " Well, one thing is certain : you have 
selected a good one. It has been a long time 
since we have met, Blackie," he added, without 
waiting for the introduction. 

" Yes — not since you were working on the 
post-office robbery, I think," the smiling safe- 
breaker said. 

" Which I never have been able to prove 
against you, no matter what my own personal 
opinion in the matter may be, to this day," 
Melchoir added, with good humour. 

Digitized by dOOgle 

" Quite correctly stated," Blackie replied, 

" Now, Doris, explain this mad prank," Mel- 
choir demanded, turning sternly to the girl 
whp hung happily over the arm of his chair. 
"What are you doing here ? " 

# " Oh, Bob," she cried, unable to keep her great 
news one unnecessary second, " we have the proof 
from Von Hoffmeier's house." 

" What 1 " cried her fianci, jumping to his 
feet and seizing her by the arms so that he could 
look into her face. " There was trouble — a 
burglary — out there to-night. I received the 
police-report just before you 'phoned." 

Then as a half-realization of what she had to 
tell flashed into his mind, his face grew white. 

" Doris," he cried, " you didn't have that done! 
You weren't out there, were you ? " 

" Yes, I was," she answered. "Not only was 
I out there, but I was in the room when the safe 
was blown open and Captain von Hoffmeier 
came in and dragged off my cap and wig, and my 
safe-breaker knocked him insensible, and then 
we took what we wanted and came here, so 
that I could get some clothes before going 

" Doris, Doris," Melchoir cried, reproachfully, 
" do you realize what you have done ? " 

" I do, «but you don't — not yet. Do you see 
those records ? " She pointed to the pile on the 
table and. to the Hungarian^dance record on the 
machine. " They came from Captain von 
Hoffmeier 's study." 

Melchoir looked at them. " What of that ? " 
he asked then. " You know I have " 

" I know you played them ; and I know, too, 
that you didn't play them properly. Listen ! " 
The girl motioned to Blackie to start the motor. 

At the first words spoken in German, Melchoir 
sprang to his feet in utter amazement. 

" The Ambassador's voice," he cried — then 
stopped, unwilling to miss one word. 

As sentence followed sentence, each conclu- 
sively damning, his fingers clenched until the 
nails bit into the flesh. 

" Plans for destroying munition- works, plans 
for destroying rail way -terminals, plans for 
destroying the Canal ! " he ejaculated. " And 
direct from the German Embassy I At last we 
have the proof ! " 

His forehead wrinkled in perplexity. 

" I played this very record before Von Hoff- 
meier even received it, and found nothing like 
this. How did they do it ? " 

Blackie showed Melchoir the sound-box and 
the needle taken from the Captain's study," 
and explained. 

" Now," exclaimed the half-delirious Doris, 
" what do you think of your Doris and her safe- 
breaker ? " 

" I think you both deserve the gratitude of 
the nation," the Secret Service agent said, 
solemnly. " You've saved us from the enemy." 

Doris hid her face against his breast. 

" This is the happiest moment of my life," 
she murmured. " And I can't keep awake 
another second. Bob, dear, won't you take me 




of a 

Sporting Photographer. 



(Consulting Physician to the British Olympic Athletic Team), 

Author of "The Photography of Moving Objects/' " Athletics and the Medical Man," "The Fifth 

Olympiad/ 9 "The Camera as Athletic Judge/' "The Diary of a Channel Swim/ 9 "The 

Education of the Athlete/' "Sport and War/' etc. 

Illustrated from PLotograpLs by tkc Autkor. 


F the cynical philosopher was 
right when he described life as 
a mauvais quart d'heure composed 
of exquisite moments, I shall 
have to live for a very long time 
to accomplish the whole of my 
fifteen minutes, at any rate if I 
limit my experiences to the 
world of sport. For, casting my mind back over 
years unique in sport and comprising what may 
fairly be described as exceptional opportunities, 
I recollect but three outstanding " moments " 
of real thrill, excitement, or whatever one may 
include in the term "exquisite." 

The first was in 1004 ; the occasion the Inter- 
*Varsity Sports. The chief event of the meeting 
was the half-mile race in which Gregson, the 
Cambridge President, encountered the Oxford 
President, Cornwallis. We regarded the former 
as invincible, and when, three hundred yards 
from home, he made his effort, the expected 
appeared inevitable. But immediately the tall 
Oxonian followed with an irresistible spurt. I 
was overwhelmed by a feeling of excitement 
which I have never again experienced, tame 
though the bare recital of this event must appear. 
Cornwallis won, but in what a time ! 1.54*, 
a record in these sports which may well stand for 

Life was very full that day, for even before 
breakfast another " thrill " had already been pro- 
vided for me. The year 1904 was unique in the 
history of the Boat Race in that it was rowed at 
8 a.m. At that hour Hammersmith Bridge on 
a sharp misty morning gave a possible sight of 
perhaps one hundred and fifty yards in either 
direction. When the boats came into sight the 
picture they presented was extraordinarily 
attractive. Out of the fog they appeared and for 
a few seconds they hung fairy-like in perspective 
close together in mid-stream, to vanish out of 
sight in a couple of dozen strokes. " Pretty 
race," cooed the professional watermen around 
me, and indeed it has verv rarelv happened that 

by V_ 



the spectacle has been presented of the rival 
Blues straining neck and neck at this point 
Almost invariably at least a length and a half 
separates them, and this means some forty yards, 
with the appearance even at this stage of a 

My third " thrill " was at the Amateur 
Athletic Championships in 1913, and related to 
the Long Jump. My brother was competing for 
the last time in his long career. On many 
occasions he had just failed to be champion, for 
whether he jumped superbly well or deplorably 
badly he always just missed ultimate success. I 
was watching the jump through field-glasses from 
the opposite side of the ground. When my 
brother was about to take his last jump he was 
at this stage led by a Swedish opponent. I 
realized poignantly that he was about to make his 
very last jump in competition in his life. I 
have a sneaking attraction towards some form 
of thought transference or influence at a distance 
unexplainable on ordinary physical lines, and I 
concentrated all my soul into a fervid hope that 
he should win. At that moment my brother 
jumped ; there was a roar from the crowd in 
the vicinity of the pit — and S. S. Abrahams was 
Long Jump Champion for 1913(1). 

Now I ought at once to explain that there is a 
very good and valid reason why I have had 
so few excitements. I am essentially a photo- 
grapher of these incidents and, paradoxically, 
witness them without seeing them. But when 
Cornwallis beat Gregson, for the first and only 
time in a long photographic experience I was 
too excited to use my camera ; in the Boat 
Race of 1004 the light was too feeble for me 
to take advantage of the wonderful opportunity ; 
whilst as regards the Long Jump of 19 13 I was 
about a hundred yards off and so quite out of 
photographic range. 

I have been present then at innumerable 
great events in sport and been privileged to 
witness many Inter - 'Varsity, British, and 
World's records. Yet most of these historical 



9 1 



occurrences I have never actually seen. I have 
sacrificed the interest to the necessity of con- 
centrating attention upon my apparatus in the 
desire to obtain a permanent record. 

Yet on the whole I ice) I have gained more than 
I have missed H We are fond of assuring each 
other nowadays that things can never be the 
same again. We may live to witness a condition 
oi affairs in which our life of four years ago seems 
to have been not merely a different existence, 
but an existence in another world. We may 
know a generation who will read of the Boat 
Race and the other doings oi our mighty con- 
temporaries as we read of mail -clad knights, of 
jousting and of archery. And to them I may show 
my pictures and tell of the deeds of those who 
fought and fell for the salvation of the Empire, 
deeds in a more peaceful activity, deeds which 
will probably never be equalled, almost certainly 
never surpassed. 

Posterity will revel in our stories of the Boat 
Race, and I regret that I have never seen a 
photograph which can convey an adequate 
impression of the great Water Derby. One wants 
a picture which will 
^ra p hica 1 ly i 11 u strate 
Mr. K. C. Lehmann's 
picturesque descrip- 
tion : — 

" And it's all a 

blur of shouting 

and of steamers 

blowing steam, 
And of launches 

close behind us 

that are churn- 

i n g up the 

And it's Ham* 

Tnersmith and 

Chiswick and 

the noise of 

While they spurt and we 

keep spurting as the 

coxes call for ten ! " 

Although Mr. Lehmann has 

been kind enough to assure me 

that one of my photographs 

came up to his standard, I 

must candidly admit that it 

never approached mine. 

I have always photographed 
at Hammersmith Bridge t for 
not with s landing the general 
rule that a substantial interval 
separates the boats at this 
position, there is always a 
possibility that it is the stage 
when the race becomes most 
critical. In 191 2 it will be 
recalled that both crews 
sank, Cambridge otf Har rods', 
Oxford shortly after passing 
Ham mc rs mi th . M y photo- 
graph that year was taken a 
few seconds before the Dark 
Blues became water-logged (2), 
It amuses me to announce that although the fact 
is evident from the reversal of the seating in 
the boat, nobody has ever observed that my 
photograph must have been taken through the 
glass of the plate J For th# first time I 
publish this admission of my clumsiness, not 
infrequent in the novice, quite unpardonable in 
the experienced. 

Through desiring to photograph various stages 
of the event. I missed the finer details of what 
was perhaps the greatest race ever run, the eight 
hundred metres at Stockholm in 191 2, Hanns 
Brau n p a young Bavarian- who had been three 
times British Half- Mile Amateur Champion, 
was in competition with six Americans and a 
Canadian, I believe Braun to have been the 
greatest runner the world has ever seen at this 
distance (j). 

One living Englishman and one alone has the 
privilege of being an individual winner on the 
track at the last Olympic Games. Of course, we 
won one other event, a relay race, but it will be 
almost unnecessary to state that the only 
Englishman to win a gold medal in an individual 


many men 

by Google 

IBEl9,2 «al1 







effort was A. N. S. Jackson, whom I recently met 
with a second bar to his D + S.O, and com- 
manding his battalion. 

Although Jackson beat all the best milers in 
the world, I do not hesitate to class him as a good 
but not a great performer at this distance. It 
is generally forgotten that fifteen hundred 
metres is one hundred and twenty yards less 
than a mile, + and this shorter distance suited 
Colonel Jackson rather better than most people 
realized. He is the type which could always 
have had the one thousand yards and the three- 
quarter mile World's records at his mercy. I 
remember well that in forecasting the result of 
the Olympic race I placed Jackson as a probable 
fourth. I could not sec a comparative novice 
beating John Paul Jones, the greatest amateur 
iiiiler at that time ; Tabor, who subsequently in 
America beat W. G. George's mile record by a 
tiny fraction of a second, and Abel Kiviat. the 
World's record holder at fifteen hundred metres, 

not to mention Wide, 
Sweden's great runner. 
At the end of the first 
lap Jackson was a 
good dozen yards be- 
hind the leader, at the 
bell (four hundred 
yards from the tape) 
he lay sixth, still eight 
y arris in the rear. 
With three hundred 
yards to go he sud- 
denly rushed to the 
front and kept his 
form with marvellous 
determination to the 
end- I believe that 
the Americans under- 
rated the opposition 
and watched each 
other so closely that 
they paid no attention to their outside oppon* 
ents. But none of them grudged the English- 
man his splendid victory, and their enthusiastic 
congratulations were all in keeping with the 
sportsmanship I have always experienced in 
them (4). 

If we snatched an unexpected victory at Stock- 
holm in Colonel Jackson's event we certainly lost 
one which we deserved to win in the Hurdles, 
The late Lieutenant G. R. L r Anderson had 
studied and developed a style which amazed even 
the American conches who thought they had 
nothing to learn in this event (5). But in the semi- 
final Anderson fell when leading ; in all proba- 
bility his discomfiture was attributable to the 
race being run on cinders instead of grass> to 
which English hurdlers are accustomed, The 
additional: pace the track afforded may well 
have upset the delicate co-ordination which a 
first-class hurdler must possess. I believe 
Anderson would have beaten a World's record 










the hurdles, 
my mind 
« most won- 
derful record 
it is possible 
to achieve— 
running one 
hundred and 
twenty yards 
and clearing 
ten obstacles 
all inside fif- 
teen seconds t 
shows the leap 
of 6:t. 3in. 
in the 
igh Jump by 
% Horuie, of 
ie United 

tates (6)/. • r * ir 1 

lorine had previously beaten the World's record 
America with the phenomeial leap of 
ft. Sin. W Z y fct 

One cannot but speculate what the Games of 
19 1 6 "at Berlin might have given us. The 
rettous results of 191a prepared us to expect 
any thing. We saw 
World's records 
en with almost 
monotonous regu- 
rity, but more 
that, we saw 
i entry into the 
of nations 
we had 
tierto supposed 
possess no ata- 
ctic ability what' 
Would the 
its of. human 
md uia nee and 
lievement have 
en still further 
tended? Would 
er nations have 
sprung into promi- 
nence out of ob- 
scurity as Finland 
a m 

?rang in 1912 ? 
t Germany, as 
moling nation, 
uld have made 
mighty effort is 
certain. By 191 4 
we were aware 
that their prepara- 
s were on a 
mmoth scale 
and that nothing 
had been over- 
looked or neg- 
lected in their 
scheme of training. 
Crack English pro- 
fessional oarsmen 
Vol ivi.— 7* 




and American 
trainers had 
been engaged 
and were al- 
ready at work, 
whilst a sys- 
tematic inves- 
tigation of the 
whole country 
for talent was 
i ns tit u ted. 
1 cannot bring 
myself to 
think that the 
supremacy of 
track athletics 
or of British 
would have 
been di s- 
In an endeavour to contrast the prowess of 
modern athletic giants with those of a generation 
or so ago, one realizes with considerable interest 
the very large number of records which have been 
established during the last few years. 

In University athletics, with the solitary 

exception of the 
High Jump record 
established by 
M. J, Brooks in 
1876 (and very 
nearly broken by 
the late G. Howard 
Smith in icoa), 
every record has 
been beaten since 
1902. Going farther 
afield, with the ex* 
ccption of sundry 
very long-distance 
events in which 
the modern athlete 
had not the time 
or disposition to 
specialize, every 
best on record 
has been equalled 
or surpassed 
since 1903. W. G* 
Georges mile, es- 
tablished in 1886, 
was the last to go 
(in 191 5^ P although 
in justice to the 
late record-holder 
he beat his own 
best time by three 
seconds during 
practice. Old-time 
followers of form 
tell us that no 
modem sprinter 
ever came up to 
Harry Hutchens, 

6 ™>ri8frialfror whosc 




ances date back to 1884, although many good 
authorities enthusiastically acclaim the sprinting 
of Applegarth in igij and 19 14 as the finest 
the world has ever witnessed. It is by no 
means improbable that J. Donaldson in 1013 
was even a trifle better, whilst in my own 
opinion Reggie Walker, who won the sprint at 
the Olympic Games in 1908, was when at his best 
the fastest of all (7). 

To me it has always been of enthralling interest 
to observe how Nature with her own views about 
aristocracy disperses the super-dreadnoughts of 
athletics all over the world. Think how two 
long-distance cracks strikingly similar in build, 
style, and capacity. Like Hanncs Kolehmainen and 
Alfred Shrubb, were produced, the one in a Sussex 
hamlet, the other in a remote village in Finland. 
And Nature, whilst generously bestowing upon 
our little island such gifts as Colonel Jackson, 
the late Captain HaJ&welle, the late Lieutenant 
G. R, L. Anderson, 
J + Donaldson. C. B. 
Fry, \V\ G. George, 
Applegarth, and 
others too numerous 
to mention, estab- 
lished Braun in 
Germany, Bouin in 
France, and, not to 
continue the subject 
to the point of 
weariness, produced 
phenomenal athletes 
unsurpassed in their 
own particular 
events in every State 
of America, in 
Canada, New Zea- 
land, Australia, 
South Africa, 
Sweden, Fi nland, 
Greece, and Hawaii. 
Wlutt should we 

have seen in the Games of 
ioi6 if Japan, Russia, and 
perhaps even China, with ail 
those millions from whom to 
select, had chosen to take a 
hand in the game ? 

Even the Channel swim has 
been accomplished within the 
last few years, although the 
repeated failures of numerous 
aspirants at one time made 
us despair of ever seeing 
Captain Webb's great feat 
repeated. I have always 
deplored that Fortune de- 
prived me of witnessing what 
would have been a wonderful 
record in 1908, when Jahez 
Wolff e very nearly succeeded 
in reaching Calais on the one 
occasion when I accompanied 
him r But for an error of 
judgment by the pilot who 
directed his course, an error 
which caused him to miss the 
tide, he would not only have reached French soil 
but have accomplished the distance in about two- 
thirds the time taken by Webb in 1S75 (8), 

I have frequently been asked what is the most 
difficult sporting event to photograph. I will 
bracket as equal the successful attempt to show 
an amateur dislodging a tent-peg and a man 
being bowled at cricket, I say amateur ad- 
visedly, because a crack professional soldier can 
perform the first feat with almost infallible 
accuracy, and the shutter can be released with 
the certainty of obtaining a good photograph. 
The amateur may or may not hit the peg squarely, 
and so one must not make the exposure until the 
peg is actually seen on the lance, and this leaves- 
precious little time for decision (9). The cricket 
photograph exhibits much the same sort of 
difficulty. Unless you adopt the impracticable 
procedure of photographing every ball sent down, 
you cannot anticipate the fall of a wicket with 







any individual ball, 
I had the remark- 
ably good fortune 
of securing in two 
consecutive expo- 
sures two almost 
identical pictures of 
falling wickets, a 
piece of luck I 
should not expect 
to encounter twice 
in a dozen life- 
times (io) t 

In cricket there is 
an additional diffi- 
culty. No position 
close to the wicket 
can be regarded as 
affording reasonable 
safety, and the 
anxiety of avoiding 
damage to yourself 
and a fortiori to your 
valued apparatus 
does not encourage 
the sang-froid essential to perfect high-speed 

There is, however; another way to photograph 
at cricket, and that is to employ the wonderful 
tele-photo high-speed camera invented about 
eight years a^o. This apparatus enables you 
to stand eighty yards off , or even farther, take 
your observation through a little prismatic 
telescope on the camera, and thus in perfect 
comfort and safety obtain pictures perhaps from 
the top of a pavilion. These fi bird's-eye views " 
have a peculiar foreshortened appearance, but 
their photography possesses all the fascination 
of big- game shooting — indeed, the method has 
been applied to the photography of wild animals 
in Nature — with none of the dangers. 

As I write, I pick up one after the other a 
number of pictures not one of which fails to 
include a giant of the past whose last race was 
run for Engtend and the preservation of all that 





England holds dear, 
Kenneth Powell, 
equally good at lawn 
tennis and hurdling, 
wanning the 'Varsity 
Hurdles in record 
time; Kenneth 
Powell, who hated 
war more than any- 
body I ever knew, 
but who was one of 
the first to volun- 
teer as a " Tommy," 
G, K. L. Anderson, a 
great scholar and a 
marvellous athlete. 
Those two superb 
athletes from the 
Antipodes — F. S. 
Kelly, the greatest 
amateur sculler of 
all time, and 
Anthony Wilding, 
equally distin- 
guished in lawn 
tennis- R* R C. Yorke, perhaps the finest 
all-round runner who never won a champion* 
ship. G. W. Hutson, the soldier, the third 
best distance runner in the world when still a 
youngster and capable of the greatest promise. 
The start for the Mile Kace P Oxford versus 
Cambridge in 1905, when the Oxonian, the late 
Captain Henderson Hamilton, beat the Cantab, 
the late Lieutenant A. K. Welsh, in record time, 
The photograph fascinates me to recall the 
obvious boyish confidence of the winner as, trained 
for the race of his life, defeat seemed to him 
impossible even before the pistol cracked ; and 
the highly intellectual, pale, determined features of 
the Cantab, though equally well trained, seeming 
to foreshadow inevitable defeat and the future 
tragedy. Photographs of football matches and 
of 'Varsity eights -man after man has gone, too 
numerous to mention, to swell the list of those 
who would form indeed mighty teams or crews 
to do battle in Valhalla, 




Digitized by {jOOglC 


A Feast 

Illustrated by 
Stanley Davis 


J Mai] Edginton 

HE man was disgorged with 
others from the Lift at Piccadilly 
Tube Station t and stood leisurely 
on the threshold of the Hay- 
market. 1 £e was slightly inclined 
to corpulence, but brawny as 
well ; not very tall but tall 
enough to rise above mere short- 
ness ; whatever expression usually lay on his face 
was swamped by an irresponsible, pervasive 
happiness seemingly irrelevant to time and place. 
The face itself was squarish, longish, heavy, and 
red ; the face of a man of strength. The eyes 
were small and of a fiery blue, eyes of a man who 
loved living. It was not remarkably early to be 
in evening -dress ; about a quarter to six. He 
might have been on his way to dine early with a 
subsequent theatre- party, He stood to light a 
cigarette, which he fitted carefully into a gold- 
and- amber holder, and he surveyed the nearest 
placard good-humour edly* 


Dan Rogers at Large, 
f Five Hundred Pounds Reward Offered-. 

The newsboy nearest him, seeing his attention 
i;ni.nht, thrust a paper on him. He gave the 
boy sixpence, not waiting for the change, and 
stepped on to the pavement, His dress overcoat 
and his opera hat sat faultlessly upon him. He 
glanced from his little fiery eyes curiously at 
the passing crowds about him, and for a moment 
his glance was caught and held, 

A police- con stable was looking at him keenly. 

He crossed the street leisurely, passing close 
to the constable, standing beside him a moment 
while a line of taxi cabs streamed past ; thus 
standing by, he nodded a good evening. 

The policeman looked after him, then crossed 
to the telephone-boxes \ n the Tube Station. 

The man went on down the Haymarket. As 
he walked he scanned the face of every woman 
who passed— not with an obtrusive scrutiny, but 
with a lightning blue stare that took her in from 
top to toe and switched away again almost before 
■he felt it. So he reached, vid Charing Cross, the 
hustling Strand, where the business girls came by 
in succession like a regiment, all homing. 

Copyright, 191 S, 

Turning down from Agar Street he saw her ; 
a girl about as tall as himself, not very slim but 
slim enough, with a short, pale face with aruemic 
lips, with great big eyes of yiale brow T ri, and the 
most gorgeous red hair under her battered but 
beautifully -perched black hat. Her suit was 
battered too. She carried a cheap despatch 
case, and hurried like the rest. She was London 
business -girl at her best, in flower. When he 
saw her he was suddenly still for a second, his 
fiery- eyes focused, like a hound fastening 
unerringly upon quarry. In two seconds he was 
beside her, raising his hut. 

She walked on a little quicker, frozen, He 
walked with her. 

JH Please ! " he uttered, hurriedly. 

The £trf cast him a look then, " No! " she 
said. There was much virtue in her " No/ r but 

there was something else* There was a vexed 

For he did not look to be a promiscuous man, 
and the girl who fends for herself is a judge of 
that. Moreover, his clothes were so good # his 
air of leisure and ease so comfortable, so promis- 

He slackened his pace, and some influence or 
force which spoke from him without articulation 
made her slacken hers too. " Please ! " he said 
again ; "it won't hurt you to Listen for five 
minutes, will it ? I shall not say anything that 
you won't like to hear." 

His voice was a little hoarse, wearier than bis 
face. She found herself noting details ; and 
while she noted, he took her very gently by the 
elbow and led her back to the quieter ways 
leading through Pall MalL By the time she 
realized it he was talking again, 

" I want to ask you, please, to have dinner 
with rne " 

" Oh ! I don't do that sort of thing I " 

" f and go to a theatre after " 

" Oh l I really couldn't I " 

" if you don't I'll have to find some othi j 

girl to be kind enough to give me her company, 
and I don't want to look farther than you/* 

44 I don't know why you should think " 

" I don't think. 1 only hope. I know what 
you are — a -.very respectable young lady. But 
you are a vWjpCJi&iy JrSrming one. All day I've 

by *»t BWittfclTY OF MICHIGAN 



been about London and you arc the most 
charming girl I've seen/ 1 

The giH*s anemic cheeks did not change 
colour, Site had lost any tendency to blush, 
But she kept that air of outrage* 

He looked at his watch. 

M There isn't much time to decide/ ' he said, 

They were standing In Trafalgar Square by 
now, facing the pile of the National Gallery. 

" I can't go out to dinner," she said, ** I'm 

His face fell, and she saw what he though- , 

. _^_ _ " I mean engaged to 
be married/' she added, 

"Oh! " he exclaimed, 
and for the first time she 
saw his smile, It was 
the j oiliest smile she 
hail ever seen, and it 
thawed her* 

" It wouldn't do," 
she said, more confiden- 

" On the contrary, it 
might do very well in- 
deed," he replied* "Is 
this young chap of yours 
rich ? " 

ft Rich ! Of course 
not I No such luck I " 
she sighed. 

" Well, I am rich 
enough/' said the man, 
quietly, u and I will 
promise you something 
to your mutual ad- 
vantage if you J I just 
give me your company 
at dinner to-night." 

" It's so strange " 

" It s tlie most simple, 
human thing if you only 
knew " 

" I've never " 

"Had a little harmless 
ad ve n tu re ? Poor gi rl ! M 

" Oh, I'll come ! " 
said she, suddenly, 

He had signalled a 
taxi before she realized 
it h and they were inside. 
She put her back into 
a corner, and sat almost 
facing him, with space 
between them, 

" You needn't do 
that," he said, knitting 
his brows, 

" Well, one never 
knows " 

He made an almost 
savage plea which 
startled her. 

" Look here I Trust 
me. I'd love it/' 
<l You're a funnyman." 
But she sat a hit nearer and he saw her cheek 
curve into an answering laugh. 

After all, she was a rogue like all girls. 
" Hut— but you're in evening clothes 1 " 
" You soon will be, too/' 

" I — I haven't got " 

He interrupted her: " Don't ask questions, 
lust let me arrange, will you ? I promise you 
it's all right. You shall hear everything at 
dinner. Hut now there isn't time/* 
The Uxi drew up in Hanover Square, 

Where ar.e, . we going ? M said the mrl # 

hostifeiy. OngmaTTrdhi 




x " To buy clothes," he answered, gripping her 
elbow, and she was in a lift with him, ascending 
to the second floor. 

" What's your name ? " he whispered. 

" It doesn't matter." 

" I only want your first name. That'll do for 
the evening." 

" Mary. 1 ' 

A softness ran over his face. " That's just 
right," he whispered. " You won't find a man 
who doesn't love the name ' Mary.' " 

They stepped out. 

" You're sure you're going to explain ? N " she 
said, salving her conscience by a puerile return 
to caution and frigidity. 

" I swear it." 

She was by this time in an apartment of quiet 
tones and great richness. A model gown or two 
hung about. Someone was folding up impalpable 
things. The customers were late. 

11 This lady," said the man to the saleswoman, 
" wants to be fitted out for the evening as quickly 
as possible." To the girl he added, intimately, 
*' Spend up to thirty pounds, Mary." 

He then went and sat down on a lounge, while 
the women disappeared within a fitting-room. 
From time to time the saleswoman came out and 
went back again with mysteries hung over her 
arm. When she did this he bent forward and 
stared ardently at the burdens she was carrying. 
They were beautiful — these things which clothed 
women ! Also women were expensive, de- 
liriously expensive ! He sat there replete with 
his satisfaction.* Now and again he dropped a 
hand to feel the softness of the lounge on which 
he rested. And while he waited, seeing a tele- 
phone, he got up, and booked a table at the 
1 " A table for two." 

The girl came out, followed by the saleswoman, 
smiling. The girl was staggered, astonished at 
herself. The blush that few situations could raise 
on her pale cheek had come by contemplation of 
her new beauty. She knew herself, for an 
evening, supreme. Even her anaemic mouth was 
softly rosy. Her eyes stared unwinking like 
stars, and golden shoots had come into them. 
With her hat off one saw the utter gorgeousness 
of her red hair, sleek wave upon wave. 

The saleswoman had dressed her in oyster- 
white with a flaming blue cloak and finished her 
down to her handkerchief and her small shoes. 

The man rose and, trembling and fumbling 
very slightly, paid the account. The girl had 
no more hesitation about going out' to dinner. 

They ran down to the waiting cab. 

It was an autumn night, dusky and warm. 
Town had thrown off her toil and was making 
ready for play. Thousands and thousands and 
thousands of people would soon be engaged in 
thousands and thousands and thousands of 
happy ways. Delights were in the air. Mary 
was not sitting with her back in a corner like 
a hostile animal withdrawn against a wall to 

11 Do you mind if I hold your hand ? " came 
the husky voice near her. 

" Well, only my hand, mind you 1 " 

by Google 

" I won't if you don't like it. You are being 
kind ; very kind." 

But after a few moments she dropped her hand 
carelessly to the seat beside her. Then he took 
and held it in one sinewy and hard. 

" You play games? " she asked, feeling his hand 
with a cuddling movement of her softer one. 

" Many sorts." 

They were at the Carlton. For the first time 
that evening she. heard his name, when he gave 
it to the official who was allotting tabks. 

" I rang up a while ago — table for two — Mr. 
James Oatley." 

They were piloted to their table. The girl had 
refused to leave-her blue cloak in the dressing- 
room ; she wanted to wear all — all I She could 
feel it satiny against the unaccustomed bareness 
of her shoulders. Now Oatley helped her off 
with it, and hung it very reverently over her 
chair, where it made a perfect background for 
her, as she knew. 

She had never been in any such restaurant 
before, but woman-like she didn't reveal this. 
She looked around her unafraid while Oatley 
looked at her. She knew, of course, that the 
first thing he'd do when she had her cloak off 
would be to look at her. She had summed him 
up with her London shrewdness as reliable ; and 
manageable. But of course he was a man. 

So she gave him his opportunity to stare 

" I ought to have told you my name at once," 
he said, when the soup had been removed, and 
champagne foamed in their glasses. " You 
heard it just now ? James Oatley, I'm from 
New York. This is my first visit to this country. 
I don't suppose you've ever heard of me. But if 

you came over there -" his modest but jolly 

smile said, " you would." 

" Are you a millionaire ? " 

He stroked his chin, which was very long and 
had had a remarkably clean shave. His hair 
was cropped so close that he had a bullet-headed 
look, " Not quite," he answered, " not quite. 
But why ? " 

" Because of what you said " 

" Oh ! Oh-h-h 1 I haven't forgotten. That's 
all right. I'm to hear about you* You're 
engaged ? " 

" I've been engaged for two years." 

" Why f How old are you ? " 

" I'm twenty." 

" Twenty I " he said. He laughed. " God ! 
Fancy being twenty ! " He mused. " Twenty ! " 

She rejoined: "I* don't suppose you were 
working at twenty ? You were rich. Were you 
rich at twenty ? What were you, doing ? " 

Over his face ther* swept a remarkable look 
which made her catch her breath. There was 
pain in it, acute. 

" What wasn't I doing ? Planning to buy the 
world one day, and the next swearing money was 
dirty stuff — no good to anybody. That's how 
we are at twenty, like the wind. North, south, 
east, and west. How old do you suppose I am* 
now ? " 

She guessed : — 

" Forty-five." 

Original from 



It was nearly right. 

" Forty-one/' he said. "So I look a good 
forty-five, do I?!' He mused, and for a 
sudden moment in thought he travelled far 
from her ; his brow wrinkled painfully ; and he 

While his attention wandered into some dim 
recessful place, again she looked round the res- 
taurant to see who was looking at her. And a 
man was looking — one of two who had come in 
since her entry with Oatley, and had been given, 
after a brief word with the official who allotted 
tables, a place rather near them. His companion 
was glancing at James Oatley. 

They were both tallish, nondescript, yet smart, 
she decided, for she judged men mostly by their 
clothes and the places at which they ate. They 
were men cut to a pattern, laconic, trim, one 
blond, the other darker. 

It was the darker one whose gaze, part medi- 
tative, part admiring, she had intercepted on 
its straight passage across intervening tables to 
her face. She looked away and unconsciously 
preened herself, her eyes brighter, the blood 
flowing redder in her cheek. 

Oatley was back again, his fiery blue gaze 
returning to her with all its former concentration, 
and he had caught the look she had snatched away 
irom the two diners at the near-by table. He 
turned his eyes quickly in its direction. 

He screwed a monocle into his eye, and gazed 
urbanely. The thought that he was distinguished 
grew with her. Only rich men troubled about 
monocles. v 

" Anyone you know ? " he questioned, pleas- 

11 No." She thought : " As if anyone I knew 
would be dining here ! " but was pleased at the 

" Why ! " said he, " why ! If it isn't 

Old acquaintances from little old New York. 
Excuse me one moment, Mary." 

He rose leisurely, dropping his napkin care- 
fully on his chair. He paused to speak a word 
to his waiter who was approaching for service. 
He nodded across to the two men, who nodded 
back. Then he bent slightly with one more 
apology to Mary, and threaded his way to their 

"Why" he said, "Brunton! Grays I If I 
am to call you so at the moment ? " 

His eyebrows went up whimsically ; he had 
his hand on the blond man's shoulder. The other 
rested on the table, and the dark man looked down 
at it swiftly for an impalpable second. It was a 
thick hard hand, but bore signs of good enough 
keeping, with carefully-trimmed nails. 

" Oh, you may," said the blond man. 

Oatley drew up a chair and sat down. " Well, 
one never knows if you fellows are on a stunt. 
Perhaps it's just a pleasure trip this evening, eh, 
Brunton ? " 

The dark man smiled easily. " Perhaps it is." 

" Queer I should see you here to-night," said 
Oatley. " I only landed to-day, from the 
Marcus. I came over rather on the quiet for 
business reasons. However, never mind those. 
When I said it was queer r mceting you just 

to-night I meant because of— h&ve you seen 
this evening's papers ? " 

" Yes," said Grays. 

Oatley exclaimed : " Then you've seen my 
double is flitting about somewhere again." 

"Rogers?" said Grays. "Yes. He broke 
jail three days ago, though it's only just been 
made public." 

" Well," said Oatley, " you both know me. 
I'm in this city and the rest of your pals at the 
Yard had better know too, I guess. I sha'n't 
forget that time in N'York when he posed as 
James B. Oatley for — how long was it ? " 

" Le's see," said Brunton. 

" Three weeks," Grays replied. 

" Three weeks," said Oatley, chuckling and 
nodding confirmation. " It was you, caught him. 
Grays. I'll always remember you for that, 
though it's — how long again ? — eight years 
since we met. But I knew you and Brunton 
directly I saw you. I'd heard you'd left N'York 
to give a fillip to the police work over here. Well, 
we could give a good many fillips over here. 
That's my opinion. You fellows gi^n your 
order ? " 

The wine waiter was now standing by awaiting 
a rift in the talk. 

" Just giving it," said Brunton. 

Oatley cried : " No, you don't. You'll have 
a bottle with me. What you like. I must, that's 
all about it. I want to treat somebody straight 
away. Seeing two old N'York faces my first 
night over, why, it's great ! What shall it be ? " 

" Oh, look here," said Brunton, 

" Pommard," said Grays, without a flicker. 

" Pommard ! " quoth Oatley, with scorn. He 
took the wine list, ran his eye and finger down and 
chose a famous vintage. " Waiter, the gentle- 
men's wine is mine. I'm sitting over there. 
Well, so long, boys." He rose. 

" You see I can't stay," said he, smiling, with 
the debonair look that only a pretty girl brings 
to one-and-forty's face. 

They smiled too ; congratulations. Brunton 
again flickered a surreptitious look at a white 
figure of girlish yet gorgeous proportion against 
a flame of blue. 

" Join us at the theatre after," said Oatley, 
invitingly, "I'd like to introduce you. We've 
got a box — No. 6 — at the Empress." 

Grays looked at him straight. " Thanks," he 
replied, readily. 

Brunton observed : " We're expecting a cable, 
as a matter of fact." 

" Then you are on a F.tunt ? Now you've let 
up I But it's all right, boys, it's all right. So 
you can't come ? " 

" I think we can," said Grays. 

" Yes, we'll come," said Brunton ; " like to." 

" The cable, if it interests you to know," said 
Grays, looking Oatley straight and pleasantly in 
the face. " is about yourself." 

" About me ! Why, that's great ! " 

" We cabled over to New York to ask your 

14 Why Eh ? Because of that devil 

Rogers ? Ha ! ha ! ha;! • Jh\s is great I I'm 

tickled to dBtfghi'al Frorfif :^ 



" We'll get the cable while we're here, probably, 
won't we, Brunton ? " Grays asked. 

Brunton nodded non-committally. 

" Don't matter much about the cable," said 
Oatley. " I'm here." 

" Yes," said Brunton. 

" Anyway, get it sent on to the theatre after 
you," said Oatley. " We'll all read it together. 
I tell you I'm just tickled to death." 

" Might do that," said Grays. " That would 
do very well. We'll be with you at the theatre. 
Follow your taxi, shall we?" 

They all laughed. Oatley got up and stood, 
one hand on his hip, the other on the table. His 
monocle magnified one fiery blue eye. " Well, 
I must be off ! I say, though, what was the 
devil in for here ? " 

" Robbed a bank. Got ten years." 

" How much had he done ? " 

" Seven." 

" Silly beggar," said Oatley ; " better have 
stayed the course." 

" They get craving, you know," said Grays. 

Oatley remarked : "I see by this evening's 
paper that he's supposed to have just burgled a 
house in Maida Vale or somewhere — where's 
that ? — and lifted a clear sixty pounds cash." 

" That won't get him away," said Grays. 

" It'll give the beggar a fairish run," said 
Oatley. " P'r'aps that's all he wants and 
expects. If he's wise he'll blue it gloriously. 

Well " The wine arrived. " Cheero, boys ! " 

said Oatley, and left. 

Back at his table he apologized again. " Am 
I forgiven ? " 

" Yes," said Mary, pouting. 

" I've not been preux chevalier ; I'm a casual 
bloke to take out a delightful young lady. But 
I'll make up. You'd got to tell me all about 

As he spoke he refilled their glasses. First he 
drank to her. Then, looking across at the two 
detectives, he raised his glass again and nodded. 
They responded. Oatley set down his glass 
empty, and looked into the girl's big pale-brown 
eyes, now lashed and dark with excitement. 

" All about yourself," he repeated. 

" What a thing to ask ! " 

" About this engagement of yours, now. What 
sort of fellow is he ? " 

She missed the piercing wist fulness of his look 
while she looked down and played with a fork. 

" Oh, he's a dear." 

" What's his name ? " 

" Robert Morton." 

" Where's he live ? " 

She said : " In rooms in Pimlico. Lupus 

She looked round the Carlton a little apologeti- 
cally, adding : " Of course, he's saving. We 
want to start well." 

" What's well ? " 

" With a little capital. I don't believe in 
putting your last penny in the furniture." He 
noted tiny lines, lines of the bargainer, on her 
London-flower face, ,and looking from them to 
her red hair, admired' h^r wholly for the character 
the had, sharp, r^Jvc' shrewish, and courageous. 

by V_ 



"Good!" he said. "You're wise, rhink 
your champagne." 

She drank, and saw him smile as the gold to 
foam touched her now flushed lips. 

" What are you smiling at ? " 

" You, Mary. What does this fellow of yours 
do ? " 

" Journalism," she said, grandly. 

" What kind ? " 

When she told him he smiled again at her 
description. " That tosh 1 " he said. 

" You're not very polite ! " she answered* 

" How would capital help him ? " 

" He'd have time to strike out on a different 
line if he had money behind him." She talked 

" You love him ? " said Oatley. 

" Oh, he's not a bad old card as men go." 

" You do," said Oatley. She was blush in c 
" Lucky fellow," he added, thoughtfully. Then 
he asked : " What's the exact address ? " 

When she had given it she asked : " Why ? " 
. " I told you," he replied, "I'm going to do 
lomething for him." 

" Oh ! When ? " 

" At once." 

" But why ? " 

He looked at her and she blushed very prettily 

" Waiter," he said, looking round. The man 
came. " Bring grapes and peaches — you like 
them, Mary ? — and nuts. And port." 

While the service proceeded, he looked at her 
openly and proudly. " What a companion I've 
got ! " he said, in a voice of real glee. 

" May I pay you compliments ? " he asked, 
and he began to tell her beautiful things about 
herself ; about her red hair ; and the lovely 
velvet thickness of the kind of skin which goes 
with it ; about her eyes ; her thin white hand>. 
She became more radiant than ever, as he had 
purposed making her, and many people looked 
at them. As for Brunton, he could hardly keep 
his eyes away for two consecutive seconds. 
Oatley looked around and saw and thrilled. 

" This is great ! " he said, whisperingly. 
" Great ! " 

She murmured decorously : " You've given me 
a lovely dinner." 

" Mary," he replied, " this is a gala night." 

She went on : "If Bert could see me " 

" There'll be many things in your life Berl 
had better not see, if you're wise. You're so 
pretty ! So terribly pretty ! " 

" You think so ? Really ? " 

She spoke breathlessly. He saw a womanly 
dream of power in her eye. 

" Eat a peach," he begged. " Take it in your 
fingers and bile it, do." But she wouldn't do 
that. She used a knife and fork correctly. 

Oatley sipped his port, while she ate fruit. 
He met Grays' eyes. He counted the men who 
were looking at the girl ; his girl. 

" Glad you don't undervalue money," he said, 

" Does anyone ? Do you ? " 

" Do I ? No, my girl, I don't. I love it. 
I — love it." 

He sipped port.* It oiled his tongue richly. 





Original from 

by Google 



" Do you know/' he said, " that it is really the 
rich man who can enter the kingdom of -God ; 
but it's devilish jhard for a poor one. There's a 
man — he's a common criminal — who happens to 
be exactly my double " 

She exclaimed in horror : "A common 
criminal ! " 

" Ah. He's that. He was a man who liked 
good things ; he hadn't got 'em. Now if he had 
been rich he would have had them. He wouldn't 
have had to go out looking. And he's got a lust 
for sport that leads him into queer places. If 
he was rich it would lead him into Central Africa 
after big game. As it is . . . Ah, well . . . 
Ah, well ... He loves wine and good food, 
and the freedom of great hotels'. He loves a 
gamble. But all he's got to stake is his liberty, 
so he stakes it with gusto, by God ! But 
liberty's not a commodity you lay on the tables 
at Nice and Monte Carlo. That's where he'd be 
gambling with gold if he was rich, but he isn't 
rich. When he's staked his shirt and his boots 
he stakes his body, he stakes his soul ; his 
liberty's all he's got left to play with " 

He heard her little Voice saying : " People 
oughtn't to be dishonest. Where would we all 
be if " 

Running on : " Now," said he, " if this fellow 
was rich, if he was James B. Oatley instead of 
what he is, he'd have been a sport jnstead of a 
pariah. Eh ? Isn't it all queer— queer ? " 

He shook his head. Again he was far from 
her — till her little voice said, poutingjy : — 

" You oughtn't to be making excuses for such, 
people." . 

He started. " No," said he, in a jolly voice. 
" I won't. They get their run and they shall 
pay their money. Let 'em take their medicine." 
He looked at a watch on his wrist. " Waiter, 
quick ! Coffee and — what's your liqueur, Mary ? " 

" Oh ! I couldn't ! " 

" You could, to-night. Have a crcme de 
menthe. Kummel for me, waiter." He tasted 
it very, very appreciatively. 

He knew that many men envied him when, 
waving away the waiters' services, he rose to 
hang Mary's blue cloak upon her cream-coloured 
shoulders. He bent down to her. " There 
must be at least fifty fellows here — if I had time 
to count 'em — who'd give their ears to be in my 

As they walked out the thought walked with 

" Fifty men — fifty men — are envying me." 

He could not refrain, at the door, from looking 
back at them. 

Brunton and Grays had risen too ; were 
sauntering through the maze of tables. 

The commissionaire had a taxi up quickly. 
Oatley put Mary in and with his foot on the step, 
turned to grin and wave to Brunton and Grays. 
They nodded. A second empty cab was rolling 
up as the first got away. 

The girl was warm with delight ; and friendly. 

He took her hand again, and glanced from the 
window. The drive was to be very short. 

" Mary," he said, " there isn't a great deal of 
time. We sha'n't be alone in the theatre, and I 

by LiOOglC 

may possibly not be able to see you home. 

Look here " he suddenly faltered. *The girl 

knew perfectly well what was coming. 

" May I kiss you ? " he asked. 

" You promised " 

" All right. All right, I know I promised. 
But let me tell you. I was going to persuade any 
woman who kindly came out to dinner with me 
to let me kiss her good-night. I knew it'd have 
to be persuasion because I meant to have a nice 
woman — a girl I'd be proud to be seen with. A 
girl who looked like my own. God ! didn't those 
fellows in the restaurant envy me ! . . . Do 
you think you understand ? " 

" You are an extraordinary man.'* 

" Why ? " 

" Not to kiss me." 

Oatley drew a quick breath and, putting his 
arm about her, held her to him and kissed hen 
She was not at ail unwilling. She was laughing. 

" Ah ! " he said, " it's nice to kiss a laughing 
girl ! I love laughter. This is heaven." 

And he asked, whisperingly : " Now will you. 
kiss me and say ' good-night ? ' " 

But she would not kiss him. 

" Oh, well," he pondered. " It's been good 
enough — good enough — I'm very grateful." She 
let him hold her close in his arm till the cab 
stopped, though. Then, recovering herself, she 
fairly sailed, with that innocent virgin look which 
girls can reassume at will, after the attendant 
who led them to their box. She was seated, 
programme in hand, chocolates before her. 
bright with wine and joy, when the door opened 
again to admit Oatley's two other guests. 

Grays and Brunton had not been long behind 
them. They went through their introductions 
to the girl with an unction which flattered her. 
As for Oatley, he made them heartily, hospitably 
welcome. " I like a party," he said. " It's 
good to have gathered one together unexpectedly 
on the — first night over." 

The curtain went up on the play. 

Oatley went softly to the door of the box. 
beckoned and whispered one of the programme 
girls who hung about the corridor. He returned 
with two more programmes for Grays and 
Brunton, and sat down at Mary's elbow. 

Just at the end of the second act the programme 
girl to whom he had spoken came quietly to the 
door of the box, and spoke to him. He heard 
what she had to say, then whispered it on to 
Grays. " The business- manager here's an old 
friend of mine. Jimmy Arden. Say ! I'm in 
luck. And I didn't know till he sent that girl 
round 1 He's outside wanting a word — just in 
the corridor. 'Scuse me a second " 

He gave a light, a fleeting pressure to Mary's 
bare arm, a little loving nip ; and passed out, 
drawing the door to behind him. The attendant 
whispered : " That was all right, sir ? " 

He answered : " All right. Smart girl ! " 
gave her a smile and slipped a coin into her hand. 
Close by stood a messenger with a sealed envelope 
in his hand. Oatley looked at the address with 
the air of one who had the right. 

" That the cable Mr. Grays was expecting ? " 
said he, easily:. ■" M.r r Grays is in the bar." 





When he had seen the messenger disappear 
thither he went very quietly but swiftly up the 
-. hustled his things from the loun; 
k-room attendant, darted downstairs, out 
into the street, By luck he caught a provvi 
taxi immediately. 

' Xo, toOBj Lupus Street," he said, amiably. 
H Co like fur 

He leaned back, There was a stale smell of 
rctte smoke in the taxi, instead of the scent 
of that girL I le thought, and began to calculate : 
11 He'll look round the bar for a minute, go back 
to the box ; it must have given enough time for 
my start. I do wonder how the little prill get 

.e> But something and someone ah* 
provides for little girls," The cab sought < 

cobbled streets near the Embankment, and 
rattled him aloi 

It stopped sooner than he expected and 
wanted it to. He gave the driver, with a jest, a 
coin ; half a crown. It was the last in 
pocket. Knocking upon the door of an apart- 
ment house he asked for Mr, Morton, thinking : — 

" And now suppose the blighter isn't in ? ** 

But he was in, 

"My lucks held," said Oatley, climbing stairs. 
He gave his hat a rake, M Good gambler's 

A knock on the indicated door brought a young 
man to it at c 

' Mr. Robert Morton ? u Oatley asked. 

M Yes," saiti Lhcr young m&n. " What do yo« 

Z04 * 


want ? " And then seeing the caller's prosperous 
appearance, he added : " Come in." 

So Oatley went into the dingy room, very 
frowsy and very littered, and stood. 

He refused a chair. 

" It won't take long to state my business. 
I've come to do you good." 

" Aren't mad, are you ? " said the young man, 
laughing at his own wit. 

Oatley saw an under-sized fellow with a mean 
face ; of great respectability, yet virtuously 
raffish ; weak but violent, with a dignity that 
was incarnate temptation to more ribald spirit. 
An impulse seized Oatley. . . . But no. 

He bit at a finger-nail half savagely ; then 
stopped, tickled at the smoothness of the finger 
tip. For two nights he had slept in cold-creamed 
kid gloves like a vain woman. 

" You seem interested in me," said Mr. Morton, 
his cigarette drooping from his lip. 

" I am," said Oatley. " I was wondering 
what a woman really likes in a man. However, 
I suppose a woman knows." 

" Often have to take what they can get nowa- 
days," said Mr. Morton. 

Oatley rejoined : "So it seems. . . . Well, 
now my explanation. I propose to give exactly 
three minutes to it. If I'm longer all my benevo- 
lent plans for you may miscarry. You're en- 
gaged to a nice girl. A very nice girl. She did 
me a kindness this evening." 

He rejoiced in the jealousy on the fellow's 
face. " Did me a great kindness," he repeated. 
" Now I'm going to repay her by doing you one. 
See this ? " From his overcoat pocket he 
brought out and unfolded his evening paper, 
and pointed to a headline. " Like to earn 
five hundred pounds by catching a notorious 
criminal ? " 

Morton stared at him like a wise owl without 

"I'm him," said the other, in his slightly 
hoarse voice. " I broke jail three days ago. 
I got some cash, and I've had my fling. It's 
over. I haven't an ^earthly of getting away. 
Two of the smartest men in Scotland Yard'll 
have me before morning anyway. But I don't 
like going cheap. I rather fancy this price. And 
if you like to find me " 

Morton had his narrow back against the door 

" No, you infernal little amateur policeman/* 
said the other, with extreme yet quiet ferocity. 
" not that way. I'd have you away from that 
door and dead as that door with a turn of my 
hand if I liked. Besides, you've got to do it 
plausibly. And you'll do it as like a sport as 
you can. That is to say, you'll do it as / say. 
In ten minutes from now I shall be standing on 
Vauxhall Bridge. You, with ail that wonderful 
boost and brilliancy which you express in your 
sweet face, will spot me ; you will follow me. 
You'll bring off a capture and a newspaper- story . 
Stand away from that door." 

Morton stood away. " And open it for me 
politely," said the convict. 

In a raised staccato voice Morton began : 
" But— but— but " 

" You'll have to do it as I tell you if you're 
to clear that five hundred." 

" Come ! " Morton gasped. " This is an extra- 
ordinary story " 

" It would be," said Rogers, with vanity, " if 
I had the telling of it. If you want to see whether 
it's true come to Vauxhall Bridge in ten minutes, 
and if you want that five hundred spot cash 
for any sake don't call a constable now." 

Flicking a speck of dust from his coat, settling 
his hat, he turned for the door, but checked. 

" Before I go," said he, " for the Lord's sake 
give me a whisky-and-soda ; I'm cleaned out ; 
it'll be my last for " 

" I'm a teetotaller," replied Morton. 

" Oh, my crimes ! " said the sinner. He cast 
upon the young man a look of mingled ribaldry 
and loathing, and walked out, the other hard on 
his heels. 

" You fool I " said Rogers, turning ; " go back. 
You'll rum it all." 

So alone he walked out into the velvet night 
that hid the dolour of Lupus Street. 

As he stood on the great bridge he lighted 
a cigarette, his last and a good one. It wa£ 
fragrant. Minutes passed. He saw under the 
lamps, nosing towards him, the young man, light 
and keen ; eager ferret. 

Something made him think of the girl's red 
hair, and chuckle deeply : 'J God ! " he said to 
himself, " I'm glad she's ginger. She'll give 
him " 

He turned and walked westwards, the pursuit 
on his heels. 

^TT^^-v^ ^r'K^^^r-'^^:: ssr^arfm**^ 

SB <* - # -^^^ £2 


by Google 

Original from 

*&%& Dance Girl 

4c E.R.Punshon 


HERE was a new dance girl at 

Hermy Hagen's, and all Dawson 

City knew it, for the tale spread 

swiftly through the town how 

Elsie Gerrard, whom the death 

of her father, heart-broken by 

the total failure of his claim, in 

which he had sunk every cent 

he possessed and all he could borrow, had left 

destitute, was now boarding with the Hagens, 

and would be at the dance-hall every evening 

.when there was dancing. 

Some laughed and some sneered, for she had 
always been quiet and reserved, standing with 
her father a little aloof from that eager, bustling, 
passionate community, whose daily business it 
was to gamble with the wildest forces of Nature 
in her most stark mood — life against gold. 

It was piquant, therefore, to imagine that shy 
and secret creature, of whom few had had more 
than a passing glimpse as she helped her father 
on his claim or came with him at rare intervals 
into the town for fresh supplies, now plunged 
into the rough and boisterously free-and-easy 
life of the dance-hall. But those who laughed 
and those who sneered, and, too, those who 
secretly sympathized, were all equally eager to 
see how the girl faced her new existence, and 
Hagen's dance-house was never so crowded as 
during this first week of her engagement. 

Mrs. Hagen, watching from her post of vantage 
between the piano and the big stove, whence she 
kept strict eye on the proprieties, for she was 
ambitious that hers should be recognized as the 
best-conducted and most respectable place of 
entertainment in the town, beamed with delight 
as she watched the crowd pouring in. At the 
moment Elsie was dancing with young Harry 
Seton, just back from the new gold field on 
which he owned the best-paying claim. He was, 
perhaps, the only man in the room who did not 
know who Elsie was. It was the frozen misery 
on her pale young face that had caught his 
attention, and had made him pick her out when 
other men hung back, unconsciously awed, per- 
haps, by the despair that showed in her tragic 
eyes and was stamped upon her whole expression. 
And she in her turn was the only person in the 
room who knew nothing of him or of the success 
he had recently achieved. Nor, indeed, would 
she have greatly cared if she had known. 

To her he was simply another of the men with 
whom, by the terms of her contract, she was 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

IlJusfrafed bu. WR&Sfott. 

bound to dance if tl^ey chose her for a partner. 
In his toil-soiled clothes, and with his thick 
growth of untrimmed beard and whiskers, he 
looked like any of the rest of them, and she 
thought him perhaps a little more repulsive 
than the others because he seemed to her the 
more obviously excited by drink. 

In that she did 'him some injustice, thougn 
it was true that his mood was anything but 
normal, and true also that he had had at least 
one drink of Hagen's atrocious and fiery whisky. 
But his excitement did not come from that. 
Recently, in three, months of mad and passionate 
toil, he had seen his wildest dreams realized, he 
had torn from the frozen earth rich treasure she 
had long kept concealed in her bosom, and now, 
physically worn out by the strain of labour that 
had ceased not by day or by night, and mentally 
exhausted by the feverish excitement of his 
success, he was in so overwrought a mood it is 
no wonder the girl thought him drunk, not with 
gold but with Hagen's whisky. 

But by the terms of her engagement she was 
obliged to dance with him as with any other 
man who paid down his dollar 'for the privilege 
of a few minutes' turn with one of the girls on 
the dance-house floor ; and, indeed, to many a 
toiler back from the fierce struggle with Nature 
for the gold she hid so well beneath her shield 
of frost and sharp biting sword of wind and 
storm, the hour or two spent in the warm and 
lighted dance-house seemed often a veritable 
gleam of paradise. 

They were strange enough places, these dance- 
halls of Dawson City, pure products of time and 
circumstance unmatched elsewhere, but they 
were, on the whole, well-conducted ; they had 
a strict if somewhat eclectic code of conduct, 
and they served a useful purpose in the strange 
exotic life of those early days on the Klondyke. 
But Elsie Gerrard at least was in no mood to 
consider their use and purpose as she whirled 
mechanically round and round to the strains 
of the wheezy piano, and knew only that her 
life was misery and her soul dark despair. Her 
expression never altered as she danced, and, 
bending a little forward, Seton said to her : — 

" You look in trouble. Is anything the 
matter ? " 

She shook her head indifferently, her expression 
still unchanging, and he said, a little awkwardly : — 

" Well, I think there is. I'm sorry." 

" Who asked you to be sorry ? '* she flashed. 




with a look of such fierce and passionate intensity 
that he was fairly taken aback. " Be sorry for 
yourself," she told him. 

" Oh, but I'm not," he answered, laughing a 
little too loudly. 

The music stopped, for Hagen, charging a 
dollar a dance, saw that none lasted too long. 
There was a general rush towards the long bar 
that occupied all one end of the room, but Seton 
stood still, looking at his partner and still 

She turned away, but he stepped after her, 
and touched her on the arm. 

" Say," he exclaimed, " won't you tell me 
your trouble ? I might be able to help you. 
I've had luck myself, and I'd like to share it 
with everyone else." 

" I don't want your help," she retorted, quickly 
and angrily, but then something in the real 
kindness and goodwill of his voice touched her, 
and she added, more mildly: "Besides, you 
can't; no one could. When my father died he 
owed Mr. Hagen a great deal of money. I had 
to try to pay it back. And then if I hadn't 
come here I should have starved, for there was 
nothing left at all. I was afraid — and the cold, 
too, the awful, awful cold. So I came to be a 
dance girl here, as they call us." 

" I see," he said, thoughtfully. Her voice 
had been full of an intense and passionate 
loathing ; and that strange expression of still 
misery upon her pale young fa.ce which had 
attracted him at first never altered in the 
least. " I see," he repeated. " Then you don't 
like this sort of thing ? " 

"ILike it ? " she repeated, with a low indrawn 
breath that spoke her feelings very clearly and 
plainly. " It will kill me," she said, passionately. 
" But Mrs. Hagen says it's just the same to 
dance with people for pay as it is to dance before 
people for pay for them to look at, as they do 
in the theatres at home. And I daresay it is." 

" Well, look here," he said, " how much is it 

you owe Hagen ? I'll pay it for you, and " 

He stopped awkwardly, checked by the passion 
in her eyes. 

" You see," she said, with a little movement 
of her hands, " every man thinks he has a right 
to insult me now." 

" I didn't mean to insult you," he grumbled. 

" But you think I would take your money ? " 
she said, bitterly. " You think you have a right 
to offer it ? " 

11 Why not ? " he asked, very angry himself 
now at the way in which she had received his 
well-meant suggestion. " Or, if you won't take 
my money, take me. Marry me ! " 

She faced him with flashing eyes and a face 
from which every vestige of colour had fled. 

" Just say that again," she muttered, her 
voice coming and going unequally; " say that 
again, and so I will." 

" I do say it again," he answered, his anger 
as high and fierce as hers. " Will you marry 

" Yes, I will," she said. " Now, then." 

" Right," he said, calmly. " Be ready first 
thing to-morrow morning. I'll tell Hagen you're 

1. I'll tell Hagen yc 


not dancing apy more, and that I'll hammer the 
life out of any man who asks you to after this, 
and I'll pay him what's owing." 

Hermy Hagen's protests were vigorous and 
picturesque, but Seton was in no mood to listen, 
and he cut the dance-hall keeper's lamentations 
very sort. He paid what Elsie's father had 
owed Hagen, and also the amount stipulated 
for in her contract as the penalty for a breach 
of it, and then he went off to make arrangements 
for the morning's ceremony. 

On the KlondyRe few formalities are necessary, 
and Seton had no difficulty in arranging for the 
marriage to take place first thing in the morning, 
and when the next day he went round lor Elsie 
he found her ready for him, and still of the same 
mind. But her mood had changed, and from 
the reckless and passionate despair of the previous 
night she had sunk into a listless, dull indifference. 

" You've still time to change your mind," he 
told her. 

" If I did," she said, apathetically, " I 
shouldn't be able to pay you back the money 
you've given Hagen, and I don't like being in 
debt." She paused, and added in the same dull 
way : "I'm quite ready to marry you, if you 
like. I think I would rather marry you than 
any other man out here." 

" Would you ? " he exclaimed, with a sudden 
leaping excitement. . . 

" Yes," she said. " I think I detest you Ae 
most of them all. One or two of. the others 

might be tolerable in time; but you — you " 

She paused and gasped, as though all at once 
she had a difficulty in breathing, and then she 
laughed. " You can't say I didn't warn you/' 
she said. 

" I don't understand you," he muttered, 
greatly dashed ; and because he was young and 
knew very little, it seemed to him strange that 
he did not understand her, and a noteworthy 
and puzzling thing. 

Within half an hour the ceremony that made 
them man and wife was over, and after it he 
took her round to one of the stores and they 
made a few purchases. 

" Now I've good news for you," he said, 
when this was done. " You know I've sold 
an interest in my claim on the new field to some 
people with whom I'm going to work it in 
partnership ? They're also interested in a 
bunch of claims on the Five Fingers field, and 
I have a share in those claims too, now. So I'm 
going up there to have a look at them, and you 
can stay here till I come back." 

"Now I've bad news for you," she said; 
" I'm going with you." 

" You couldn't stand it," he retorted ; " I 
shall be there a month, I expect." 

She made no answer, and in the end she had 
her way, and, since everything was in readiness, 
very soon they were on the trail. One night 
they would have to camp out, so Seton took a 
small tent and some supplies, together with an 
empty coal -oil tin to act as a stove for warming 
the tent, since he wished to avoid the extra 
weight of an ordinary stove. As he knew by 
experience, a. bitf eir.pty oil-can makes a very 






good emergency stove, though natundly it burns 
through after comparatively brief use. Since 
their sleigh was so lightly loaded, Elsie would 
be able to ride whenever she wished to p or needed 
a rest, and by way of precaution Seton bought 
an extra dog, making his team up to four. He 

also remembered 
to take "iiis rifle 
and to put a 
packet of car- 
tridges in his 
pocket* as 
wolves had been 
reported in the 
vicinity in un- 
usual numbers 
that \\ inter. 

" Not that I 
ever heard of 
wolves attacking 
anyone." he re* 
marked ; "but 
it's as well to 
be on the safe 
side, ' 

The trail was 
in first-class con- 
dition, the dogs 
in good heart and 
ready for work, 
and they jour- 
neyed very 
easily. To Elsie 
this escape from 
Dawson City, 
where she had 
suffered such 
things, was a 
great relief, for 
she felt she could 
not have en- 
dured it had she 
been forced to 
stay there longer. 
She even had a 
g learn of kindly 
feeling towards 
the man who 
had at any rate 
removed her 
from one bond- 
age, even if only 
to fix Ins own 
fetters upon her. 
"I should 
have gone mad/' 
she thought to 
herself, "if I 
had stayed in 
Dawson City any 

There was a 
bright moon and 
so they con- 
tinued travelling 
for some time 
after sunset. 
The night was calm and still, and the cold not 
very severe, and in other circumstances Elsie 
would have thoroughly enjoyed the trip. But, 
as it was, they were both very silent as they 
progressed farther j&ndJarthcr into the depths 
of the great wilderness of the, north, all around 






them tall, gaunt trees and endless' untrodden 
leagues of snow, while above their heads the 
aurora flamed across the sky, its fires pale and 
spectral in the bright moonlight. 

Almost the only time they spoke was once 
when a distant cry broke through the intense 
and wonderful silence of that land where all the 
multitudinous sounds of Nature are hushed 
beneath the frost's tremendous weight. 

" What is that ? " Elsie asked, startled. 

" Wolves," he answered ; " but don't be 
scared, they never attack people." 

" Don't they ? " she said, indifferent again. 

He did not speak any more, but often he stole 
quick glances at her. A tragic misery was still 
stamped upon her small white face, her eyes 
were sombre and heavy as before. He wondered 
a little what it would be like if that expression 
ever changed, and he asked himself what impulse 
it had been on his side and on hers that had 
made them partners for life. 

" I suppose," he mused, " she didn't think 

she cared anything about anything, and I " 

He drew a long breath. " I'd give a deal," he 
thought, " to see her look different." 

After a time it seemed to him they had gone 
far enough, and he said aloud : — 

" We'll camp here, shall we ? " 

It was a convenient place he had chosen, well 
sheltered by a bluff behind and with a clump 
of dead trees not very far away to provide 
firewood. He pitched the tent and set up 
their make-shift stove, which he started with 
soma dry wood Elsie collected in the neigh- 

" I'd better cut down one of those dead trees," 
he remarked ; " there isn't enough lying about 
here to keep us going more than an hour or 

He took the axe and went off while Elsie filled 
the kettle with snow for tea and began to prepare 
their supper. Soon Seton came back with a 
goodly supply of dry branches lopped from the 
tree he had felled. He filled the stove afresh 
and then went on to build a big camp fire in the 
open for additional warmth both* in the tent and 
for the benefit of the dogs. He was in the act 
of cutting one of the big branches he had brought 
into smaller lengths for the -stove when suddenly 
a long-drawn howl sounded from somewhere 
close by. 

" I say, that brute's near I " he exclaimed. 

As he spoke he aimed another blow at the log 
he was cutting, and the axe blade turned on a 
knot and gashed his leg to the bone. 

He flung away the axe with a loud cry and 
clapped his hands over the wound, from which 
the blood had spurted in a stream that dyed 
crimson the snow near at hand. Elsie ran up 
quickly, hearing his cry. Fortunately she did 
not lose her head, and together they soon had 
the bleeding under control and the wound well 
bandaged. Then she helped him into the tent 
and covered him with all the rugs and blankets 
they had brought with them. 

"I'm so awfully sorry," he said, feebly; 
" can't think how I was so clumsy. There's 
only one thing to do: you must hitch u 

up again 

and hurry back to Dawson City as fast as yon 
can and get help." 

94 I've never driven dogs," she remarked. 

" It's dead easy," he told her. " There's 
nothing to do. They know the trail and they'll 
stick to it all right once their noses are turned 
towards home. You'll only need to follow 

" That seems easy' enough," she said. 

Far off a wolf howled and the cry was answered 
once and once again, the sounds faint but distinct 
in that clear, thin air. 

" The wolves ? " she asked. 

" They won't bother you," he said. 4t They 
never attack people ; they're cowardly brutes, 
they'd never attack anyone moving on the 

Again there sounded that long-drawn, sinister 
howl, this time a little nearer as it seemed. 

" Never ? " she asked. 

" Never," he repeated. " So long as you 
keep moving you're safe enough. Still, I'm 
not sorry I brought my rifle. You might gire 
it me before you start ; the cartridges too." 

She got the weapon and the cartridges and 
put them down beside him. He stretched out 
a weak and shaking hand, for the shock and 
loss of blood had greatly enfeebled him, in order 
to pick up the rifle and load it. Suddenly he 
gave a quick and loud exclamation. 

" I've brought the wrong cartridges," he 
exclaimed ; " these are no good, they're for a 
shot-gun of twice this calibre." 

And again the long-drawn, threatening cry 
of the wolf sounded from out of the depths ot 
the forest, and this time the answering cry 
seemed ' to be from somewhere close by. Out- 
side the sleigh dogs were crouching nearer to 
the big camp fire and plainly showing their 
uneasiness. Once again the cry sounded, and 
this time there were more answers than one, 
and they all seemed to come from very near at 

" I wonder if the brutes smell blood," Seton 
muttered, uneasily. " Anyway, they'll never 
attack anyone moving along the trail, and I'm 
safe enough with that fire. Do you think you 
could cut some more wood, though ? " 

She shook her head, and when he looked at 
her in a startled way she said : — 

"When you cut yourself you threw the axe 
away and it fell in the camp-fire and got burnt 

He did not say anything for a moment, for he 
knew that this was very like a sentence of death. 

" Oh, well," he said, " it can't be helped. 
You had better get off as quickly as you caA. 
You'll be safe enough as long as you keep 

She rose without a word and left the tent. 
He heard her talking to the dogs as she hitched 
them to the sleigh, and presently he was able 
to tell that they were starting. He heard her 
voice encouraging them, and he thought, drearily. 
that she might have given him just one word of 
farewell and friendship before going ; for he 
knew well that his peril was extreme, both from 
the wolves, Qirtqimrfef mont likely half mad with 




hunger, and who had probably scented the 
blood from his wound, and also from the cold, 
since the big camp fire outside would soon die 
down and there was only enough fuel in the 
tent to keep the oil-can stove going for a very 
short time. 

" She might have said good-bye," he thought, 
" however much she hated me," and as the 
thought crossed his mind the tent flap was 
drawn aside and she came in. 

" Oh, I thought you had gone," he said. 

She did not answer, and he said, in a puzzled 
way : — 

" I heard the dogs start ; I heard you start 

" I sent them off by themselves," she said. 
" You said they would keep to the trail. If 
they do, when they get to Dawson City someone 
may see them." 

He looked at her for a long time without 
speaking* not quite understanding, and once 
again they heard a wolf's long-drawn howl from 
very near at hand. Elsie shuddered and put 
a stick of their small stock of wood in the stove. 
She said :— 

" If the dogs do keep to the trail help ought 
to be here first thing in the morning. There is 
only the night to get through." 

" You oughtn't to have done it," he cried out 
suddenly, loudly, and a little shrilly. 

She did not answer. He said again : — 

" Why did you ? " 

" Why ? " she repeated with a puzzled look. 
" Why ? I don't know ; I never thought of why." 

He lay back, exhausted, and she came across 
to where he lay and smoothed his rugs and saw 
that he was comfortable. He noticed with 
astonishment that the tragic look of her eyes 
had changed and that her expression of frozen 
misery had vanished also. Once again the 
howling of a wolf came from the trees near by. 
She did not seem to notice it, but he could not 
help trembling a little, and she said : — 

" They won't attack us ; they won't dare ; you 
mustn't be afraid." 

" I'm scared that they've smelt the blood 
from where. I cut myself," he muttered. " I wish 
you had gone ; you'd be safe enough as long as 
you kept moving." 

She set to work to collect all the wood she 
could find. But she dared not go far from the 
tent, for already dark forms were flitting 
ominously between the tall bare trunks of the 
trees, and one came right out into the open and 
stood there for a moment. She threw a burning 
* a ggot at it and it yelped and ran away, but she 
was sure it did not go far. She went back into 
the tent. 

!' They are coming nearer all the time," she 
said. _" What is the best way of driving them 
off ? " 

He answered only by a groan, for his help- 
lessness was bitter to him as death. She added 
the wood she had collected to their stock of fuel, 
but even so it was small enough, and without the 
axe she could not get more without going farther 
from the tent than she dared to do while all 
those grey, silent forms were clustering so 
Vo. WIS. 

thickly near at hand. When she went back 
outside half-a-dozen wolves were visible amidst 
the trees near by. They scattered when they 
saw her, but they went slowly, and one of them 
paused to snarl at her over his shoulder. 

The cold seemed to be increasing, too. She 
could not stand there, and yet she knew that 
if she ceased to show herself, and went within, 
the wolves would soon be . upon them. Their 
grey forms slinking to and fro were visible on 
every side, clear in the bright moonlight against 
the snowy background. Every moment their 
number seemed to increase ; she supposed there 
must be a score at least, if not more. 

She thought swiftly, desperately, wondering 
how to combat both the cold and the wolves, 
and an idea came to her. Her gift of dancing 
that had made Hermy Hagen so insistent on 
securing her services for his dance-hall might 
be of value now. For if it were true that wolves 
were too cowardly to attack anyone in move- 
ment along the trail, perhaps other kinds of 
movement might be equally efficacious in keep- 
ing them away. Besides, movement of some sort 
was J>ecoming necessary, for she could feel the 
deadly chill of the bitter Arctic cold striking to 
her heart. 

A wolf ran out from the shelter of the trees 
and stood looking at her. She shouted and 
waved her arms and it vanished instantly, but 
she was aware that on every side the pack was 
t drawing closer, and on every side she could see 
fierce eyes gleaming redly and grey forms slinking 
to and fro across the snow. 

It was as though the forest were alive with 
them, as though the frozen earth had come 
sudden y to life with these grey shapes of grisly 
death. She began to dance, standing there 
before the tent in the bright moonlight, treading 
the hard, frozen snow as though it had been 
the polished boards of some glittering ballroom. 

To and fro she moved, and at last warmth 
began to return to her stiff and half-frozen 
limbs. She flung off her long fur coat, no longer 
needing its protection, and danced on, and from 
within Seton cried out very loudly : — 

" My God 1 What are you doing ? " 

For an awful fear had come upon him that 
the imminence of so terrible a danger had driven 
her out of her mind. She answered, pausing for 
a moment : — 

" I must keep myself warm, and perhaps if I 
keep on moving about the wolves will be too 
frightened to come any nearer." 

She resumed her dance — her dance of terror 
and of death. To and fro she went, now slow, 
now fast. From within Seton watched her with 
wonder and with awe, and with all the. bitter 
torture of his helplessness, and from the shelter 
of the trees the wolves, crouching in the snow, 
watched, and were afraid with the fear that wild 
things feel of the unknown and the strange. 

An hour passed and still she .danced, back- 
wards and forwards, to and fro, .her feet light 
upon the frozen snow that flew up in little puffs 
from beneath her tread, the moon serene in the 
sky above. Now and again a wolf would throw 
back his head and howl, long and loud, the 





i rig weirdly through the imnn 
and awful stillness of tho ilitudcs, 

Another hour passed and she still danced on. 

Within the stove was growing cold, for 

there was no more wood left. Without, some 

of the wolves had come into the open and 

now in a sort of circle, strange and grisly spec- 

>rs of that strange wild dance in the moonlight 

the snow. They were still afraid, however, 

and showed as yet no signs of making a rush, 

though she dared not stop even for a moment. 

nally one or the other would emit one 

of their long-drawn howls, and a*n *uld 

answer j and another answer that* Once or twice, 
too, they broke into a wild and dreadful choi 
all baying I but she neither hesitated 

nor faltered, still dancing without pause or rest* 
The moon drew slowly on towards her setting. 
The lights of the aurora grew pale and died av 
and now all the wolf pack had come out from 
shelter of the trees. In a circle all about her 
tin I ied with foamy jaws and 

eyes of lire, and watched intently that strange 
dancing figure which never for one moment 
paused, and whose staggering, ra ements 

might for an i*iey knew conceal some great peril* 



but upon whom they were all prepared to launch 
themselves if, for one instant even, movement 

With faltering limbs and falling mind, dazed 
and exhausted, still she danced, still her feet 
moved mechanically on the frozen snow, still 
every movement preserved its rhythm and its 
time. She was barely conscious now, but yet 
the idea persisted that she must dance— fiance 
■ — dance. 

She thought sometimes that she was back in 
Hermy Hagen's dance- hall, and then it would 
seem to her that she was a schoolgirl again, once 
more in the old classroom where she and the 
other children had practised their first steps. 
She seemed to see again the smiling old white- 
haired teacher who used to beam approval on 
their efforts and clap his hands to give them the 
right time, only it puzzled her that he had now 
such bright, fierce eyes like hot coals and little 
flecks of foam upon his 

Slowly the minutes 
passed, and the hours, 
and still that dread- 
ful dance continued and 
ceased not. The moon 
sank to the horizon, the 
stars paled and went 
out ; in the cast there 
showed the first signs of 
the coming of the tardy 
gun, and still up and 
down, to and fro, back- 
wards and forwards, went 
Elsie, reeling and stagger- 
ing but still upright, her 
feet keeping unconscious 
measure on the hard and 
frozen ground. 

One by one the wolves 
slunk back to seek other 
prey, for what they had 
not dared by night they 
would not venture by 
day. In vain Seton called 
to her. She did not hear, 
she did not heed. She 
still danced staggeringly 
on, for it seemed to her 
that if she slopped she 
died and another with 
her p and when, before the 
sua was fairly up, help 
came at last she was still 
dancing on. 

It was a sergeant and 
ft trooper of the North - 
West Mounted Police who 
came ; for the arrival 
of the dogs without a 
driver had been at once 
reported to them and 
a r>atrol had started 
immediately, since it 

was not difficult to guess that some accident 
had happened. 

Wonderingly, for indeed never' had even that 
wild north land seen such a sight, they paused 
for a moment to watch her and to point out to 
each other the wolf tracks that were plainly to 
be seen all about and around the tent. Then, 
coming nearer to the dancing girl, who never 
heeded them, and was indeed not conscious ot 
their presence, the sergeant threw a blanket 
round her and lifted her in his arms and carried 
her into the tent 

" Gosh/' he said, as he laid her gently down, 
" if she ain't asleep." 

Seton, though in not much better case, for 
the strain of that awful night had been as 
severe, though in a different way, for him as for 
Elsie, ww able to describe briefly what had 
happened. By noon they were both safe in the 
Dawson City hospital, and there it was they 
held their honeymoon, there that 
Seton courted and won the love 
of the wife who had saved him 
after so strange a fashion, from 
there that they issued presently, 
healed in body, content in mind, 
one in spirit and affection. 


by Google 

Original from 

Three of Them. 






ADDY I " said the elder 
" Have you seen 
Indians ? " 
" Yes, boy/' 

" Have you ever scalped 
one ? " 

" Good gracious, no." 
" Has one ever scalped 
you ? " asked Dimples. 

" Silly ! " said Laddie. 
" If Daddy had been scalped 
be wouldn't have all that 
hair on his head — unless 
perhaps it grew again ! " 

" He has none hair on 
the very top," said Dimples, 
hovering over the low chair 
in which Daddy was sitting. 

" They didn't scalp you, 
did they, Daddy ? " asked 
Laddie, with some anxiety. 

M I expect Nature will 
scalp me some of these 

Both boys were keenly in- 
terested. Nature presented 
itself as some rival chief. 

,l When?" asked Dimples, 
eagerly, with the evident in- 
tention of being present. 

Daddy passed his fingers 
ruefully through his thinning 
locks. " Pretty soon, I ex- 
pect," said he. 

" Oo ! " said the three 
children. Laddie was re- 
sentful and defiant, but the 
two younger ones were ob- 
viously delighted. 

" But I say, Daddy, you said we should have 
an Indian game after tea. You said it when 
you wanted us to be so quiet after breakfast. 
You promised, you know." 

It doesn't do to break a promise to children. 
Daddy rose somewhat wearily from his comfort- 
able chair and put his pipe on the mantelpiece. 
First he held a conference in secret with Uncle 

by V_ 


Pat, the ( most ingenious of playmates. Then 
he returned to the children. " Collect the 
tribe," said he. " There is a Council in a quarter 
of an hour in the big room. Put on your 
Indian dresses and arm yourselves. The great 
Chief will be there I " 

Sure enough when he entered the big room a 
quarter of an hour later the tribe^ of the Leather- 
skins had assembled. There 
were four of them, for little 
rosy Cousin John from next 
door always came in for an 
Indian game. They had all 
Indian dresses with high 
feathers and wooden clubs 
or tomahawks. Daddy was 
in his usual untidy tweeds, 
but carried a rifle. He was 
very serious when he entered 
the room, for one should be 
very serious in a real good 
Indian game. Then he raised 
his rifle slowly over his head 
in greeting, and the four 
childish voices rang out in 
the war-cry. It was a pro- 
longed wolfish howl which 
Dimples had been known to 
offer to teach elderly ladies 
in hotel corridors. *' You 
can't be in our tribe without 
it, you know. There is none 
body about. Now just try 
once if you can do it." At 
this moment there are half- 
a-dozen elderly people wan- 
dering about England who 
have been madechildrcnonce 
more by Laddie and Dimples. 

Hail to the tribe ! " cried Daddy. 

Hail, Chief I " answered the voices. 

Red Buffalo ! " 

Here ! " cried Laddie. 

Black Bear ! " 

Here 1 " cried Dimples. 

White Butterfly ! " 

Go on, you silly squaw ! " growled Dimples. 

Copyright, 1918, by A. Conan Doyle* 





" Here," said Baby, 

" Prairie Wolf ! " 

" Here," said little four-year-old John. 

" The muster is complete. Make a circle 
round the camp-fire and we shall drink the fire- 
water of the Palefaces and smoke the pipe of 

That was a fearsome joy. The fire-water 
was ginger-ale drunk out of the bottle, which 
was gravely passed from hand to hand. At 
no other time had they ever drunk like that, 
and it made an occasion of it which was increased 
by the owlish gravity of Daddy. Then he lit 
his pipe and it was passed also from one tiny 
hand to another, Laddie taking a hearty suck 
at it, which set him coughing, while Baby only 
touched the end of the amber with her HttJc 

i . *■ ^ ■ - L r- ■— 

i ^ 

— [WW* 

' 1 


pink lips. There was dead silence until it had 
gone round and returned to its owner. 

" Warriors of the Leathers kins, why have we 
come here ? " asked Daddy, fingering his rifle, 

i+ Humpty Dumpty/* said little John, and 
the children alt began to laugh, but the por- 
tentous gravity of Daddy brought them back 
to the warrior mood* 

" The Prairie Wolf has spoken truly/' said 
Daddy- " A wicked Paleface called Ilumpty 
Dumpty has taken the prairies which once 
belonged to the Leathers kins and is now camped 
upon them and hunting our buffaloes. What shall 
be his fate ? Let each warrior speak in turn." 

" Tell him he has jolly well got to clear out/ 1 
said Laddie. 

14 That's not Indian talk/' cried Dimples, 
with all his soul in the game. " Kill him, 
great Chief— him and his squaw, too." The 
two younger warriors merely laughed and little 
John repeated *' Humpty Dumpty ! JJ 

by LiOOgle 

" Quite right ! Remember the villain's name ! '* 
said Daddy* '" Now, then, the whole tribe 
follows me on the war- trail and we shall teach 
this Paleface to shoot our buffaloes." 

(i Look here, we don't want squaws." cried 
Dimples, as Baby toddled at the rear of the 
procession, " You stay in the wigwam and 

A piteous cry greeted the suggestion. 
" The White Butterfly will come with us and 
bind up the wounds," said Daddy. 

"The squaws are jolly good as torturers," 
remarked Laddie. 

" Keally, Daddy, this strikes me as a most 
immoral game/' said My Lady, who had been 
a sympathetic spectator from a corner, doubt- 
ful of the ginger-ale, horrified at the pipe, 

and delighted at the 
complete absorption 
of the children* 

" Rather ! " said 
the great Chief, with 
a sad relapse into the 
normal. ** I suppose 
that is why they 
love it so. Now, 
then, warriors, we 
go forth on the war- 
trail + One whoop all 
together before we 
start. Capital ! Fol- 
low me, now, one 
behind the other. 
Not a sound 1 If 
one gets separated 
from the others let 
him give the cry of 
a night owl and the 
others will answer 
with the squeak of 
the prairie lizard." ■ 
" What sort of a 
squeak, please ? " 

"Oh, any old 
squeak will do. You 
don't walk. Indians 
trot on the war-path. 
If you see any man hiding in a bush kill him at 

once, but don't stop to scalp him " 

" Really, dear t " from the corner. 
"The great Queen would rather that you 
scalp Mm, Now, then I All ready I Start ! " 

Away went the line of figures, Daddy stooping 
with his rifle at the trail, Laddie and Dimples 
armed with axes and toy pistols, as tense and 
serious as any Redskins could be. The other 
two rather more irresponsible but very much 
absorbed all the same. The little line of absurd 
figures wound in and out of the furniture, 
and out on to the lawn, and round the laurel 
bushes, and into the yard, and back to the 
clump of trees, There Daddy stopped and 
held up his hand with a face that froze the 

" Are all here ? " he asked, 
" Yes, yes/' 

" Hush, warriors ! No sound. There is an 
enemy scout in the bushes ahead. Stay with 





me j you two* Yon, Red Buf- 
falo, and you, Black Bear, 
crawl forward and settle him, 
See that lie makes no sound. 
What you do must be quick 
and sudden. When all is 
clear give the cry of the 
wood- pigeon, ;md we will join 

The two warriors crawled . 
off in most desperate earnest. 
Daddy leaned on his gun and 
winked at the Lady, who still 
hovered fearfully in the back- 
ground like a dear hen whose 
chickens were doing wonder- 
ful and unaccountable things. 
The two younger Indians 
slapped each other and 
giggled. Presently there came 
the "coo" of a wood- pigeon 
from in front. Daddy and 
the tribe moved forward to 
where the advance guard were 
waiting in the bushes* 

" Great Chief, we could find no scout/ J said 

" There was none person to kill/ J added 

The Chief was not surprised, since the scout 
had been entirely of his own invention. It 
would not do to admit it, however. 

" Have you found his trail ? " he asked, 

44 No, Chief." 

11 Let me look/ 1 Daddy hunted round with 
a look of preternatural sagacity about him. 
" Before the snows fell a man passed here with 
a red head, grey clothes, and a squint in his 
left eye. His trail shows that his brother has 
a grocer's shop and his wife smokes cigarettes 
t on the sly/' 

11 Oh, Daddy, how could you read all that ? J * 

" It's easy enough, my son, when you get 
the knack of it. But look here, we are Indians 
on the war- trail, and don't you forget it if you 
value your scalp I Aha, here is Humpty 
Dumptys trail I " 

Uncle Pat had laid down a paper trail from 
this point, as Daddy well knew ; so now the 
children were off like a little pack of eager 
harriers, following in and out among the bushes. 
Presently they had a rest. 

" Great Chief, why does a wicked Paleface 
leave paper wherever he goes ? '* 

Daddy made a great effort. 

"He tears up the wicked letters he has 
written. Then he writes others even wickeder 
and tears them up in turn. You can see for 
yourself that he leaves them wherever he goes. 
Mow. warriors, come along 1 H 

Uncle Pat had dodged all over the limited 
garden, and the tribe followed his trail. Finally 
they stopped at a gap in the hedge which leads 
into the field- There was a little wooden hut 
in the field, where Daddy used to go and put 
up a printed cardboard ; " WORKING/' He 
found it a very good dodge when he wanted a 
quiet smoke and a nap. Usually there was 


nothing else in the field, but this time the Chief 
pushed the whole tribe hurriedly behind the 
hedge, and whispered to them to look carefully 
out between the branches. 

In the middle of the field a tripod of sticks 
supported a kettle* At each side of it was a 
hunched-up figure in a coloured blanket. Uncle 
Pat had done his work skilfully and well. 

" You must get them before they can reach 
their rifles," said the Chief. " What about their 
horses ? Black Bear, move down the hedge and 
bring back word about their horses, If you see 
none give three whistles." 

The whistles were soon heard, and the warrior 

"If the horses had been there, what would 
you have done ? " 

" Scalped them I " said Dimples. 

u Silly ass ! ,J said Laddie. '* Who ever heard 
of a horse's scalp ? You would stampede them,'* 

"Of course," said the Chief, " If ever youj 
see a horse grazing, you crawl up to it, spring 
on its back, and then gallop away with your head 
looking under its neck and only your foot to be 
seen. Don J t you forget it. But we must 
scupper these rascals on our hunting-grounds." 

" Shall we crawl up to them ? " 

" Yes, crawl up. Then when I give a whoop 
rush them* Take them alive. I wish to have 
a word with them first* Carry them into the 
hut. Go V 9 

Away went the eager little figures, the chubby 
babes and the two lithe, active boys. Daddy 
stood behind the bush watching them. They 
kept a line and tip-toed along to the camp of 
the strangers. Then on the Chiefs signal they 
burst into a cry and rushed wildly with waving 
weapons into the camp of the Palefaces. A 
moment later the two pillow-made trappers 
were being dragged off into the hut by the 
whooping warriors. They were up-ended in one 
corner when the Chief entered, and the victorious 
Indians were dancing about in front of them. 





" Anybody wounded ? " asked the Chief. 

" No, no." 

" Have you tied their hands ? " 

With perfect gravity Red Buffalo made move- 
ments behind each of the pillows. 

" They are tied, great Chief." 

" What shall we do with them ?."• 

" Cut off their, heads ! " shrieked Dimples, 
who was always the most bloodthirsty of the 
tribe, though in private life he had been known 
to weep bitterly over a squashed caterpillar. 

" The proper thing is to tie them to a stake," 
said Laddie. 

'.' What do you mean by killing ourbuffaloes ? " 
asked Daddy, severely. 

The prisoners preserved a sulky silence. 

" Shall I shoot the green one ? " asked Dimples, 
presenting his wooden pistol. 

" Wait a bit ! " said the Chief. " We had 
best keep one as a hostage and send the other 
back to say that unless the Chief of the Palefaces 
pays a ransom within three days " 

But at that moment, as a great romancer 
used to say, a strange thing happened. There 
was the sound of a turning key and the whole 
tribe of the Leatherskins was locked into the 
hut, A moment later a dreadful face appeared 
at the window, a face daubed with mud and 

overhung with grass, which drooped down from 
under a soft cap. The weird creature danced in 
triumph, and then stooped to set a light to some 
paper and shavings near the window. 

" Heavens ! " cried the Chief, " It is Yellow 
Snake, the ferocious Chief of the Bottlenoses ! " 

Flame and smoke were rising outside. It was 
excellently done and perfectly safe, but too 
much for the younger warriors. The key turned, 
the door opened, and two tearful babes were in 
the arms of the kneeling Lady. Red Buffalo and 
Black Bear were of sterner stuff. 

" I'm not frightened, Daddy," said Laddie, 
though he looked a little pale. 

" Nor me," cried Dimples, hurrying to get 
out of the hut. 

" We'll lock the prisoners up with no food, 
and haVe a council of war upon them in the 
morning," said the Chief. " Perhaps we've done 
enough to-day." 

" I rather think you have," said the Lady, as 
she soothed the poor little sobbing figures. 

" That's the worst of having kids to play," 
said Dimples. " Fancy having a squaw in a 
war-party ! " 

" Never mind, we've had a jolly good Indian 
game," said Laddie, as the sound of a distant 
bell called them all to the nursery tea. 


With Acrostic No. 49, printed below, our ninth series 
of six acrostics begins. Prizes to the value of twelve 
guineas will be awarded to the most successful solvers. 


Bur here at earliest dawn your fruit and flowers : 
Or see the opera till the night's small hours. 

1. As substitute for boot most useful found. 

2. Engaged to Hamlet, then insane, then drowned. 

3. For this is given the Victoria Cross. 

4. Maker of peace : his death was Europe's loss. 

5. The earliest t' ing by all musicians learned. 

6. By summer's sun to this your face is turned. 


Ik happier days the children flew 

With spade and bucket to the first ; 
But now their last is sadly marred 

By fear that Hun may do his worst. 

1. To see one, to your window haste ; 

Or some may find it round their waist. 

2. To question it's a vain affair, 

Though some have said it answers " Where ? " 

3. At Woolwich is a mighty one, 
And here you're sure to find a gun. 

4. A word would seem to be most right, 
But half will do to fill the light. 

\ Though water all about it stand, 
We safely say that it is land. 

Dicjiliz&d by vjiOOVcl'L. 

6. We much suspect that nowadays 
Such chaperon may " go her ways.'* 

7. An Austrian, a Turk, a Hun, 

A Bulgar too, just now is one. GEEGEE. 

Answers to Acrostics 49 and 50 should be addressed to 
the Acrostic Editor, The Strakd Magazine, Southampton 
Street; Strand y London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on August 9th. 

The answer to each acrostic must be on a separate piece 
of paper ; at the foot of each answer every solver should 
write his pseudonym and nothing else. Tiiis pseudonym 
should be limited to one word. 

Two answers may be sent to any or every light. 

Answer to No. 48. 


Notes.— Light 2. Geraint, gum; Agrigentum ; 
Girgenti. 3. " Dem(i)," with " and " ; a demand, what 
is required. 4. " He " between S. and W. 6. Pauline 
pane. 7. Curds and whey ; Kurds, Wey. 8. Letter] 
9. Re porter. 



a x i 















1 e . 










ro, er 
ien *• 

For the first light of No. 44 "Hebraistic" is also 
accepted, for the third light of this acrostic the pr< 
answer is " Loo, 1 ' and for the first light of No. 45 *' Bi 
is a valid alterzi&tiTOc 


T he Ballunatics 


Illustrated by G. E. Studdy, 

A J OR HERBERT, thoroughly 
tired from hard work at the War 
Office* arrived at his cousin's 
country house for a quiet week- 
end. Not that Lady Louisa was 
ever very quiet for long, and 
he felt a sharp pang of suspicion 
as she greeted him with sparkling 
eyes and an air of unusual elation.* 

11 I am so glad you are here/' she said, " because 
we have got a little spree on to-night, Those 
dear boys at the Barracks will be oft to the 
Front next week, and they wanted me to get up 
what they call * a rag ' for them this evening* 
Of course it is quite an impromptu afiair, just a 
Cinderella dance, fancy dress optional. Some of 
the officers are going to change into costume here ; 
you won't give them away, will you, Alex ? 
It is such a treat for them to get out of khaki. JJ 

Major Herbert sighed, and his forehead settled 
into a frown. 

"If you had only told me this. Louisa/ 1 he 
saffl, " I wouldn't have come, I am just played 
out, and old enough to be hidcousl y bored by 
anything of the kind. Be prepared for a surly 
visitor, for the very mention of a dance makes 
me feel like a bear with a sore head." 

M Oh, I knew you would say that 1 " declared 
Lady Louisa , her young face breaking into fresh, 
smiles. " JJut I don't mind betting that you 
wont be bored ; nobody ever suffers from that 
complaint at nay house. Now you will think me 
conceited, but I don't mind. I will have a bet 
with you, If you are bored, I will pay up a 
fiver to your pet charity ; if you are not bored, 
you must give me the same sum for mine. Will 
you take the bet ? " 

"Certainly/* he replied, "and I consider the 
fiver as good as won. 1 * 

Lady Louisa drew a chair forward into which 
he sank gratefully, and continued talking as she 
poured out tea under the copper beech. 

" There are quite a number of jokes on over 
to-night/* she told her gloomy relative. M I 
have told civilians that comic costumes will be 
the most welcome, as wc want to cheer up our 
fighting men. There are two of the quaintest 
brothers living in this neigh hour hood, Mr. Francis 
and Ferdinand Basket* They are fat round twins 
of fifty -five. We never thought for a moment 
they would accept the dance invitation, but they 


seem delighted to come, I am now told by Basil 
that they have thought out most original cos- 
tumes : they are coming as captive balloons I 
I don't know if they will rely on their own figures 
for the illusion, but it seems to be causing a good 
deal of amusement at the Barracks." 

" Oh, so Basil is here I " remarked Major Her- 
bert, as if the presence of Lady Louisa's young 
nephew somewhat condoned the fact that she 
was giving a dance in war-time, 

" Not only Basil, but David too/' she declared. 
" So with both my nephews quartered here I had 
to think out some entertainment, hadn't I ? " 

He grudgingly assented, as a servant came 
across the lawn with a telegram for Lady Louisa. 

Her face fell as she read the message* 

" It is all spoilt ! " she cried. " Basil and 
David have been called away unexpectedly* 
Isn't that too cruel ? I believe you will win your 
bet now. After such, a disappointment I don't 
feel I shall be able to keep up anyone's spirits/ 

The dance was in full swing, and despite her 
prophecy, Lady Louisa, as usual, made a brilliant 
hostess. She introduced just the right people, 
and allowed no one to be a wallflower, except 
Major Herbert, who declined to be sociable. 

Suddenly two of the strangest figures ever seen 
appeared in the doorway, and a loud voice 
announced t " The Ballunatics/* 

Lady Louisa absolutely gasped. She could not 
believe that Francis and Ferdinand Basket would 
ever achieve such a triumph in the way of cos- 
tume. Their usually plump figures were entirely 
concealed by large artificial balloons, and their 
faces hidden behind absurd smiling masks, with 
abnormally large heads. They trailed belli nd 
them a series of ropes which proved most dis- 
concerting in a ballroom. The dance music was 
just commencing with the first extra, and before 
anyone else started, the Ballunatics took the 
ficx>r. Together they danced in a way which 
set the whole room in a roar. They rocked 
together like swaying balloons in a gale, the 
ropes swirling round in a way which effectually 
kept the Moor clear, When their performance 
concluded, it was applauded as vociferously as 
any turn in a " Revue." 

"Why, they arc simply grand!" declared 
Lady Louisa, she saw Major Herbert laughing 
for the first '^Hflin^^twy^wavs looked upon 





them as such a sobev couple. I can't think how 
they can move so nimbly at their age/ 1 

She had hardly said the words before two more 
arrivals were announced : " Mr, Francis and Mr« 
Ferdinand Basket" 

They wondered why she stared at them for a 
moment speechlessly* and their prim faces grew 

evening. We are sorry, Lady Louisa, that you 
gave credit to* the story ; we considered you would 
have known us better,'* 

She duly apologized, then turned tefher cousin 
with a bewildered air. 

" Who are the Ball una tics ? " she asked. 
41 Just look how they are going on/ J 


anxious ; they feared they had done wrong by 
coming in discreet evening dress. 

" I thought you were those two balloons," said 
Lady Louisa, when she recovered her breath. 

The Basket brothers drew themselves up and 
inflated their chests with dignity 

" We know/' they said, " that an absurd 
rumour spread through the Barracks that we 
were going to make lools of ourselves this 

One of the pair had piled up some chairs wlm h 
the other was mounting as if to make an effort 
to ascend. Just as this pantomime was in full 
swing, a heated and anxious arrival rushed 
unannounced into the room. 

" David," cried Lady Louisa, "how lovely to see 
you! I thought you and Basil were called away." 

Her nephtjw drew her aside with a mys- 
terious air. Original from . 




" Look here, aunt," he said, *' Basil and I 
were really in the neighbourhood all the time on 
the track of spies, There are two men under 
suspicion. Now you have got all the officers 
here from the Barrack* ; what would you bay 
ii we told you that these two strangers, calling 
themselves H The Ballunatics,' are making merry 
as a blind, and have really come on a deadly 
errand ? " 

The frightened hostess clutched his arm + 

" What do you mean ? " she whispered, 
" How could they harm us ? " 

" By suddenly turning a little tap inside the 
balloon which surrounds them, arid letting 
forth poison gas, which would prevent any 
of these chaps here ever seeing any fighting 

"But they would kill themselves into the 
bargain/' she replied, disbelieving so sensational 
a statement, 

" Not if under those grinning masked faces 
they are wearing their gas helmets for their 
personal protection/* 

He had not time to say more, for the dancers 
were flocking out to the inviting gardens. An 
awful terror seized the youthful hostess Here 
were all these lives practically in her hands ; she 
must save them at any cost. As far as her own 
safety was concerned she had no fear. 

The Ballunatics were still at the far end of the 

room, talking to a little group of people now 
slowly moving towards the door, 

" David/' she said. " I will detain these men 
Ed the ballroom, and the moment the others come 
out, shut the door and bolt it ; don't let anyone 
enter again until I ring/' 

She gave David no time to argue, and -just as 
the Ballunatics would have passed. ,she took 
each by the arm with a most charming smile, and 
drew them in again as if to impart a confidence. 
Then the door closed, and she realized she was 
alone with these alarming strangers. 

" I have something private to say to you/* 
she, told them. " but I suppose I can't ask you 
to sit down, your costumes hardly permit of 
Such a luxury/' 

They nodded their great gob! in -like heads, 
and she thought she traced a German accent as 
they murmured together that she did them an 

*' It is just this,' 1 she said. ff I know what 
you are, and why you have come here. You wilt 
never be allowed out of this room until you have 
removed the deadly machinery with which you 
intend to poison my guests. I realize I am at 
your mercy, that you can kill me with a move- 
ment of your hands, but I am determined to 
protect those beneath my roof/' 

The Ballunatics appeared to tremble under 
their trappings. They drew back with a 


lized by Go< 


alarming sTRANGERs/Jnginal from 






clatter of ropes, and flung up their hands des- 

4f My lady," "they cried. " you misjudge os. 
We are innocent men, we wish no harm." 

"Then/ 1 she said, "it cannot hurt you to 
remove the balloons." 

" We are rather scantily clad beneath/ 1 replied 
the boldest of the two. " Pray let vs retire to a 
dressing-room for this ordeal pi 

"Oh, no ! " said Lady Louisa, firmly, though 
her heart sank as she felt the delicacy of her 
position. " I am not going to give you a chance 
to escape." 

The argument ceased with a sudden movement 
of a curtain, as Major Herbert, who had concealed 
himself, strode forward. 

11 I overhead what David said to you, Louisa/' 
he began, " and I think you had better leave me 
to deal with these gentlemen/' 

"Oh. you fool h you fool 3 " she murmured, under 
her breath, realizing that here at least was a 
man worth destroying. Already she fancied she 
smelt a faint whiff of gas. 

But MajoT Herbert did not look quite such a 
fool as he drew a revolver from his pocket, 

" Now, you fellows/' he said, " off with those 
clothes, or I shoot/' 

The Ball una tics at the sight of the revolver 
fell on their fat knees, and with loud weeping 
began unwinding the ropes round their waists. 
The inflated substance became looser, and two 
slim figures gradually wriggled their way out 
of the encasement. Then, with a war-whoop, 
the released Rallunatics joined hands and wildly 
danced round the Major and his now almost 
hysterical companion. They were none other than 
Basil and a young lieutenant, who only a week 
before had vowed to take Lady Louisa in, before 


they left the neighbourhood, for she, with her 
love for betting, had laid them tyro to one the 
thing was impossible. With the aid of David's 
story they had certainly succeeded in giving their 
astonished hostess a very unpleasant five minutes. 
But Lady Louisa was what they called a " sport," 
or they would never have dared to concoct the 
hoax which made the evening a phenomenal 
success, Everyone outside had by this time 
heard the rumour, which David, an accomplice, 
took care to circulate, 

" Don't end it here/' entreated Basil. M For 
goodness' sake smuggle us out of the window, and 
let your visitors think we have been mysteriously 
arrested, Von can say the story is to be kept 
out of the papers since no harm has been done. 
We will make sure that the whole neighbourhood 
is under the impression that the Ballunatics were 
shot ^at dawn ; people love a sensation. We 
will sneak in as late guests, and for once hear a 
real opinion of ourselves/' 

So Lady Louisa let them have their way, and 
in her county she is now looked upon as the mosi 
courageous woman of her time, one who tackled 
two dangerous spies without turning a hair. 

'Major Herbert, somewhat sheepishly, handed 
his cousin a fiver at breakfast, 

" One cannot be bored/ 1 he said, " when a 
spice of danger creeps into a night of frivolity* 
Besides, Basil and his young friend ought to go 
on the stage when the war is over. Their antics 
gave me the first good laugh I have enjoyed for 
many a day." 

" We certainly made things hum last night/' 
acknowledged Lady Louisa, as she took the 
money for her Red Cross hospital. " I told 
you, didn't I, Alex? -that it was never dull 
here 1 " 


The Most Useful 


Invention or Discovery 

Since 1850. 


Sir Martin Conway — Sir William Crookes, O.M. — Mr. Will Crooks, 
M.P. — Sir James Crichtoiv Browne — Sir Arthur Conan Doyle — Mrs. 
Millicent Garrett Fawcett — Mr. Frederic Harrison — Dr. Horton — Mr. 
H. M. Hyndman — Sir Harry Johnston — Mr. Coulson Kernahan — Lord 
Leverhulme — Sir Oliver Lodge — Sir John McClure — Prof. Flinders 
Petrie — Lord Rayleigh, O.M. — Lady Ritchie — Mr. George Bernard Shaw 
— Sir Frederick Treves, Bart — Mr. Horace Annesley Vachell — Father 
Bernard Vaughan — Bishop Welldon — Mr. H. G. Wells — Mr. Richard 
Whiteing — Sir Evelyn Wood, V.C. — Sir James Yoxall, M.P. 

HE boundary between Invent" on 
and Discovery is difficult to fix 
exactly, for the first often grows 
out of the second, as Electric 
Traction, Wireless Te egraphy, 
the Electric Light out of the 
experimental discoveries of men 
like Faraday, and the Gramo- 
phone, the Microphone, the Telephone, and the 
Dictaphone out of the wave theory of sound. 
Such appliances as the X-Rays might be placed 
in both categories, as might Refrigeration as 
applied to cold storage. In fact, several cor- 
respondents have classed " Wireless " as a 
discovery, yet it is also an invention. Yet there 
is a distinction. It is seen plainly when the 
Typewriter is compared with the Antiseptic 
Treatment of Disease, when the Aeroplane is 
set beside the discovery of Radium, and is quite 
well enough marked for our present purpose, 
which is to focus public attention upon the vast 
importance of Invention and Research, and to 
turn the thoughts of the rising generation to 
matters which are likely to be of ever increasing 
importance to the nation. 

Sir Harry Johnston, K.C.B., the famous 
African explorer and administrator, writes: 
" I cannot bring myself to cite only one of the 
inventions of the last sixty years as the most 
useful or beneficent. I prefer to adopt your list 
of inventions, such as the Telephone. Wireless 
Telegraphy, Aviation, Submarine Navigation, 

the Turbine, the Gramophone, the Typewriter, 
the Dictaphone, the Caisson, the Kinematograph, 
Electric Traction, the Motor-car, the Sewing- 
machine, the Incandescent Gas-mantle, the 
Electric Light — to mention only a few — dis- 
coveries such as Evolution, the Polarization of 
Light, Instantaneous Photography, the X-Rays, 
Petrol, Radium, the Finsen Light, the Antiseptic 
Treatment of Disease, Inoculation, the use of 
Anaesthetics, Refrigeration, the Products of 
Coal-tar, and to add to it the Bicycle and the 

" These two additions are not equal in im- 
portance. The Pianola is a rich man's luxury, 
though through the goodness of rich men it is 
being made applicable to many a congregation 
of sick and wounded at the present time ; but 
the Bicycle has been such a boon to mankind 
that there ought to be bicycle votive chapels in 
our greater churches." 

The list which Sir Harry Johnston adopt*? 
in toto fills Mr. George Bernard Shaw with scorn 
of our own and the nation's ignorance, and calls 
forth a characteristic exhibition of Shavian 

" The most significant modern discovery. " 
writes the author of " Man and Superman," " is 
that Cabinet Ministers and editors of popular 
papers never know anything of history, even of 
the history of their own lifetimes. For example. 
The Strand Magazine believes that Turbines 
(120 B.C.), Typewriters. Sewing Machines (1700 
here and 31846 in America), Evolution (1700), 




for their beneficent influence those 
mainly connected with the names of ■ 
Fasten r and Lister receive most votes 
from the distinguished people ques- 
tioned. Mr. Frederic Harrison, one of 
the last survivors of the Grand Old 
Men of the Victorian Age, claims, 
whilst choosing as the ** most useful 
invention the manifold adaptations 

the Polarization of Light (Newton), the 
Antiseptic Treatment of Disease, and 
Inoculation (submitted to by Voltaire 
and Catherine the Great), are among 
the novelties of the last fifty years. 

M I conclude that 
the greatest inven- 
tion of our time is 
Compulsory Educa- 
tion as a method 
of producing Invin- 
cible Ignorance." 

Wc only regret 
that " G.B.S/ 1 did 
not go farther, and 
claim Aviation for 
that remote period 
in history when michael faraday 

Daedalus and Icarus made their celebrated 
flights, Refrigeration for the Ice Age which 
preserved the mammoth for inspection if not 
for rations, and name Jonah as the first dis- 
coverer of Submarine Navigation. 
Among the outstanding discoveries notable 

Digitized by GOOSIC 

of Electric Force/' that i( the most beneficent 
discovery has been the various modes of com- 
bating disease and se- 
curing health— aseptic, 
anesthetic, X-rays , in- 
oculation, bac t e riol ogy P 
radiology, ' micrology, 
electric pathology. It 
is impossible to isolate 
any one of these new 
instruments of medicine 
and surgery. AH co- 

" The mitigation of tiiomas edison. 
disease, the conserving p^io, viuUrwood & underwood* 









of health, the increased longevity of mankind, 
transcend all material inventions and practical 
discoveries, for they enlarge the moral, affective, 
and spirit nal development of human civilization." 

Lord Rayleigh, O.M., a former President of 
the Royal Society as well as recipient of the 
Nobel Prize for Physics in 1904, endorses this 
verdict by his choice : M Pasteur's discoveries 
respecting fermentation and disease, leading to 
Lister's work, etc/' 

Sir James Crich ton- Browne, the great specialist, 
follows with like testimony to the value of this 
epoch-making discovery. " The most beneficent 
discovery since 1850 has been Antiseptic Surgery 
by Lord Lister— life and pain saving, alike in 
peace and war." 

Sir Martin Conway, the eminent Alpinist and 
explorer of the Himalayas, takes a similar line. 

,- All inventions/* he writes, " which have 
increased the speed of intercommunication 
between men have united . to 
enable that closer co-ordination 
of individuals into social units, 
and the building up of social 
units into greater social organ- 
isms whereby the great develop- 
ment of organized mankind has 
been enabled in our days to 
advance. Wh ether this social 
development is an advantage to 
the individual human being 
remains uncertain. We cannot 
therefore yet say whether the 
inventions connected with steam 
and electricity are or are not 

Then he adds I '" The only certainly beneficent 
inventions of the last hundred years are those 
by which suffering has been reduced and health 
improved. Chief among these are Anaesthetic 
and Antiseptic A let hods of Surgery — in fact, the 
inventions and discoveries that have come out 
of the laboratories where Vivisection has been 
used for purposes of research/' 

Fie Id -Marshal Sir Evelyn Wood, V,C, makes 
an identical choice. The distinguished soldier, 
who saw war at close quarters long before ign, 
says : "I think the most useful invention is 
Mechanical Propulsion in earth, in sky, on sea* 
and under sea ; the most beneficent discovery 
the development of Inoculation and Antisepti 
Treatment generally against disease, and contrul 
of Electricity/' 

Sir Frederick Treves, Bart., who performed 
the operation for appendicitis on the late Kin^ 
Edward, and who saw with his own eyes the 
ravages of war in South 
Africa, adds valuable testi- 
mony in the same direction : 

by Google 

11 The most beneficent discovery 
of the last fifty years was that 
of Antiseptic Surgery by Lord 
Lister. It has made modem 
surgery and its astounding: re- 
sults possible. The present war, 
without antiseptic measures; 
would be too horrible and too 
destructive to contemplate/" 
Id I fBrntlorton, the distinguished 




Free Church 
preacher, plumps for 
" Electric Lighting 
as an invention/' 
and adds : if The 
Antiseptic Treat- 
ment of Disease 
seems to me to be 
quite the most valu- 
able discovery of the 
last half century." 


Similarly another distinguished 

Nonconformist, Sir John McClure, 

Head Master of Mill Hill School, 

chooses Wireless as the most useful 

invention, and, as a discovery, the 

Antiseptic Treatment of Disease, 

adding t " I cannot well separate 

usefulness from beneficence in either 

case," and Professor Flinders Petrie, 

the famous Egyptologist, divides 

his vote between " Vacuum and 

Cold Storage preservation of food, h ' and " Microbes 

and Prophylactic and Aseptic Treatment/' 

Anaesthetics have been more than once referred 
to already, and they take a high place in the 
voting. Bishop Weltdon, Dean of Manchester* 
writes : " If I ask myself what has been the 
most beneficent discovery of the last hfty or 
sixty years, I cannot doubt that it has been the 
discovery of Anaesthetic Medicines. It is indeed 
a little older than fifty or sixty years ; for I 
think Sir James Simpson first made use of 
chloroform as an anaesthetic in 1S47. Nothing 
in all history has done so much to relieve human 
suffering, and thereby to facilitate the progress 
of surge ry. In the public gardens of Boston, 
U.S.A., there is, if my memory serves me right, 
a monument winch commemorates the first use 

mme. curie. 

/'Wo. Henri Mantttl 

of ether as an anaesthetic in 
the State hospital of Massa- 
chusetts, and on the base are 
inscribed the sacred words : 
' Neither shall there be any 
more pain." Hardly any monu- 
ment in the world has so 
deeply impressed me as that/' 
Mr, Horace Anne&ley Vachell* 
whose novel " The Hill *' has 
done for his old school, Harrow, 
what " Tom Brown's School 
Days " did for Rugby, chooses 
" Electric Light, because it 
illumines a thousand avenues leading us on to 
new and better conditions/ 1 and " Anaesthetics, 
because they have helped to ameliorate suffering/' 
Lady Ritchie, the honoured elder daughter 
of the great Englishman who wrote " Vanity 
Fair/' sends a delightful postcard, on which she 
says : "I have been interested in your inquiry 
and, though I am not able to grasp the many 
problems and facts which grow 
more wonderful and dazzling day 
by day as one lives on, I will 
answer from my own point of 
view, which may be that of some 
of my contemporaries. We are not 
always at war, and in peace I am 
inclined to think that the inven- 
tion that has been most useful to 
the greatest number in the last 
hfty years is the Bicycle, which is 
for all conditions of life and people, 
health, work, friendship ; for town 
and for country places, and which 
benefits the poor no less than the 
more prosperous classes. Then, for discovery, 
the use of Anaesthetics in peace time and war 
time seems to be like light in the darkness of t 
pain and suffering." 

At this point Lady Ritchie breaks into a 
charming personal reminiscence. " Rather to 
my surprise/' she says, " a nurse I consulted 
suggested Gramophones, and two more backed 
her up. saying the good effect was so wonderful 
in hospitals, If you would tell me in which 
number of The Stfand Magazine the answers 
will be given I should be glad to supply the 
nurses with a copy." 

Lady Ritchie is the on]y correspondent who 
gives the gramophone a good wordj although, 
as an invention bordering on the uncanny, it 
vies with Wireless Telegraphy itself ; but the 




. A, FARSON5* 



Original from 




humble *' push-bike " 
is not without apolo- 
gists in addition to Sir 
Harry Johnston, al- 
ready quoted. Another 
greatly revered lady, 
Mrs. Milkcent Garrett 
Fawcett, the widow 
of the famous blind 

<p. marco^i. 

Phata Elliott d rrif. 

on time and distance as hindrances to human 
intercourse, and in its addition to the productive 
powers of the race." 

Sir Oliver Lodge, the distinguished scientist 
and Principal of Birmingham University, chooses 
" Aerial Navigation " and ll The Electrical 
nature of matter, for both have far-reacliing 
importance not fully foreseen at present/' 
Sir William Crookcs. G,M,, confessedly one of 
the foremost electricians and 
chemists of the age, makes the 
same choice as Mr. Richard 
Whiteing, He writes: "In my 
opinion the most striking events 
during the last fifty years are the 
invention of the Telephone and the 
discovery of Wireless Telegraphy." 
The eminence of Sir WQliam 
Crookes himself receives remark- 
able testimony in the reply of the 
philosophic Socialist, Mr. H- II 
Hyndman, who writes : " The 
most important discovery and 

Postmaster - General, Henry Faw- 
cett. agrees with " Anne Thackeray " 
as to the Bicycle. She calls it " the 
most useful invention of the last 
fifty years, because it has set 
millions of people free 
to -move freely from 
place to place in pur- 
suit of occupation, re- 
creation, and all other 
ac t i v i ties . ' ' Thes e two 
ladies enjoy the sup- 
pi > rt of Lu rd Kay 1c ig h, 
O.M., who, in answer to 
t he q uest io n, * ' W hich 
is the most useful in- 
vention i " replies: 
" Perhaps the bicycle/' 
As far as invention 
is concerned, the Aero- 
plane and Wireless 
Telegraphy lead, with 
the Telephone and 
Motor Traction close 


/■Wto. KSl A. 

runners-up. Mr. 
Kichard Whiteing, 
the philosophical 
author of " No, 5, 
John Street," writes : 
" Out and away the 
Telephone and Wire- 
less. The first espe- 
cially is as great as 
the locomotive m its 
labour-saving effects 


i huto MA. A. 

invention for the im- 
mediate needs of man- 
kind is Sir William 
Crookes' exposition 
how to obtain nitrogen 
for land enrichment 
and other purposes 
from the air, This great discovery was mao\ 
more than twenty years ago. As it was du< 
to an Englishman, it was, of course, entirel 
neglected by, ..our. Government and our people 




It has been of immense use to Germany during 
the war, and was practically applied by a French 
company (who obtained heavy water power to 
run the necessary machinery) in Norway." 

Bishop Welldon says : " I feel 1 must say that 
Aeronautical Science is or will be more important 
to humanity than any other scientific achieve* 
ment of the past fifty or sixty years. At present 
it is almost necessarily associated in men's 
minds with the horrors of war. But neither the 
aeroplane nor, I think, the airship, was originally 
meant to be an instrument of destruction ; and 
the aeroplane or the airship, as giving man the . 
command of the one element which had until 
recentlydefied him, must, in its ultimate influence, 
rank with the' printing press and the steamship. 
I only hope and, pray that it may be used for the • 
good and not for the injury of mankind/' 

Sir James Crichton-Browne answers :* " The 
most useful invention has been the Aeroplane, 
which opens up a new era of locomotion," and 
Mr. H. G. Wells' writes : " The most important 
invention since 1850 is the Aeroplane. It is 
revolutionizing naval and military tactics ; in 
the end it will revolutionize political ideas and 
open*a new age for mankind." 

Mrt Will Crooks, M.P., a man of the people, 
votes for Wireless Telegraphy as the most 
beneficent discovery, and makes the character- » 
istic choice, doubtless by reason of his intimate • 
knowledge of East-end hospitals and infirmaries, • 
of the Finsen Light as the most useful in vention. - 

Father Bernard Vaughan is the only corre- 
spondent who chooses the products of Coal-tar. 
He says : " Coal-tar. products \ serve so many 
ends — dyes, medicines, antiseptics, and sweetings. 
The by-products of gas-tar. are more to come." 
He adds furthet:- " The most beneficent dis- 
covery, in some respects, is Wireless Telegraphy. 
Its actio in distans, its annihilation of space, its 
instantaneous call everywhere where installed." 

Sir James Yoxall, M.P., the versatile Secretary 
of the National Union of Teachers and eminent 
connoisseur, makes the distinctive choice of 
" Natural Selection as an explanation of those 
variations which induce evolutionary progress ; 
this has transformed," he adds, " all scientific 
and philosophical thought, but even yet has 
only covered half its future province." Also, 
like Sir Martin Conway, he considers V Motor- 
traction, by quickening locomotion, increasing 
the amount of it, and reducing the amount of 
heavy human toil," to be the most useful 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle also makes a " lonely " 
selection : "I should say Sir Ronald Ross's 
discovery that the mosquito carries the germ of 
malaria is the most beneficent discovery. It 
has made great regions habitable which were 
practically barren before, and has eased much 

Several distinguished correspondents define 
the word " discovery " in its broadest sense, 
considering probably that a discovery in the 
realm of ethics is even more important and 

beneficent than one in physical science. Lord 
Leverhulme, the founder of Port Sunlight, 
writes, for instance : " In my opinion the 
greatest discovery of the twentieth century has 
been that making war on peaceful neighbours 
does not pay, and there is immense hope for trie 
future of mankind in this discovery. We are 
greatly indebted to Mr. Norman Angell for 
being the first to call attention to this great feet. 
All peaceful arts will flourish and Discovery 
and Invention will be further stimulated the 
more this great fact is gr&sped." 

Mr.' H. G. Wells, too, considers that "The 
most beneficent discovery' is that no single 
nation can hope, in tfie future, to stand alone, 
and must either subdue national pride, self* 
satisfied isolation, and dynastic ambition to the 
common welfare of mankind and the. League of 
Nations — or perish like a 'rogue beast." 

Mrs. Fawcett, the most eminent Feminist 
in the world to-day, says : . " The most useful 
discovery of the last fifty years is the professional 
and industrial capacity of women, because 
(although it is still only in process of develop- 
ment) it is the greatest engine for the prevention 
of waste which mankind has yet made." 

Mr. Coulson Kernahan, author of " God and 
the Ant," and one of the earJLiest advocates of 
National Service, fitly closes this Symposium 
by writing : " Our world has been revolutionized 
by Invention and Discovery during the last 
fifty or sixty years. Wireless Telegraphy and 
Aviation I always thought would come soon. 
Inoculation as a disease preventive, and Anaes- 
thetics as preventives of human suffering, seem 
to me the greatest' blessings of the sort ever 
conferred upon the world. One recalls with 
pride that Jenner and Lister were British born. 

" Incidentally I deplore the fact that, whereas 
in Germany, France, and America scientific 
research is encouraged and sometimes subsi- 
dized, in this country, unless a man of science 
has private means, he has often to turn to some- 
thing else for a living. Germany's readiness to 
encourage scientific research,- and England's 
neglect to do so, have heavily handicapped us 
in the war. 

" The most horrible discovery is that human 
nature and a nation can sink to the level of some 
Germans. The greatest discovery is that British 
soldiers can show sacrifice which is almost 

From this Symposium we get some idea how 
large a place the English-speaking race has filled 
in the modern history of Invention and Discovery. 
The war has speeded up all the mechanical 
processes of mankind, and sharpened the wits 
of men to intensive production and the most 
wonderful devices of defence and attack. It 
remains to be seen whether in the coming days 
of peace the lessons learned in war will retain 
their force. Certain it is that the nation which 
values knowledge more than arms will win the 
foremost place in the world. 

Vol. Ivi -9. 

by Google 

Original from 

f * 



"OU know, the 
longer I live in 
New York, the 
more clearly I 
see that half the trouble 
in this bally world is 
caused by the light- 
hearted and thoughtless 
way in which chappies 
dash off letters of intro- 
duction and hand them 
to other chappies to de- 
liver to chappies of the third part. It's one "of 
those things that make you wish you were living 
in the Stone Age, What I mean to say is, if a 
fellow in those days wanted to give anyone a 
letter of introduction, he had to spend a month 
or so carving it on a large-sized boulder, and the 
chances were that the other chappie got so sick 
of lugging the thing round in the hot sun that 
he dropped it after the first mile. But nowadays 
it's so easy to write letters of introduction that 
everybody does it without a second thought, 
with the result that some perfectly harmless 
cove like myself gets in the soup. The last time 
that happened to me was when the chump 
Cyril Bassiugton-Bassington came over from 
England with a letter from my Aunt Agatha. 

This chump Bassiugton-Bassington would 
seem from contemporary accounts to have 
blown in one morning at seven -forty -five. He 
was given the respectful raspberry by my man 
Jeeves, and told to try again a tout three hours 
later, when there would be a sporting chance of 
my having sprung' from my bed with a glad cry 
to welcome another day and all that sort of 
thing. Which was rather decent of Jeeves, by 
the way. for it so happened that there was a 
slight estrangement, a touch of coldness, a bit 
of ii row in other words, between us at the 
moment because of Some rather priceless purple 
socks which I was wearing against his wishes : 
and a lesser man might easily have snatched at 
the chance of gett ng back at me a bit by loosing 
Cyril into my bedchamber at a moment when I 
couldn't have stood a two-minutes' conversation 
with my dearest pal. You know how it is, The 

Digitized by G* 

tump Curil 


Illustrated bu, A.leete. 


fierce rush of modem 
life, the cheery supper- 
party, the wine when it 
is red. and so forth. 
Well what I mean to 
say is, as far as I'm con- 
cerned, what with one 
thing and another, the 
old bean is a trifle slow 
at getting into its stride 
in the morning, and, 
until I have had my early 
cup of tea and brooded on life for a bit absolutely 
und.sturbed, I'm not much of a lad for ihe 
merry chit-chat. 

So Jeeves very sportingly shot Cyril out into the 
Crisp morning air p and didn't let me know of his 
existence till he brought his card, in with my tea. 

"And what might all this be, Jeeves?."' I 
said, giving the thing the glassy gaze. 

ft The gentleman called to see you earlier in 
the day, sir." 

" Good Lord. Jeeves I You don't mean to 
say the day starts earlier than this ? " 

r * He desired me to say he would return later, 

" I've never heard of him. Have you ever 
heard of him, Jeeves ? " 

" I am familiar with the name Bassington- 
Bassington, sir. There are three branches of 
the Bass i n ^ton- Bass in g ton family — the Shrop- 
shire Ba^siutiton-Biissingtoiis, iho Hampshi'v 
Bassing ton- Massing tons, and the Kent Bassing- 
ton- Bnssi ngtons. " 

" England seems pretty well stocked up with 
Bassington-Bassi ngtons." 

" Tolerably so, sir/' 

" No chance of a sudden shortage, I mean, 
what ? " 

" Presumably not, sir." 

" And what sort of a specimen is this one ? M 

" I could not say, sir, on such short acquaint* 

H * Will you give me a sporting two to one, 
Jeeves, j utl^ing from what you have seen of him, 
that this chappie is not a blighter or an ex- 
crescence £ **. . _ 

Original from 



" No, sir. I should not care to venture such 

" I knew it % Well, the only thing that remains 
to be discovered is what kind of a blighter he is." 

" Time will tell, sir. The gentleman brought 
this letter for you, sir." 

" What-ho ! What-ho ! What-ho ! I say, 
Jeeves, this is from my Aunt Agatha I " 

" Indeed, sir ? " 

I gave the thing the rapid eye. The wassail- 
bowl which had flowed overnight with a fairly 
steady gush into the small hours had left me 
rather pessimistic that morning, and the moment 
I saw Aunt Agatha's - handwriting something 
seemed to tell me that Fate was about to let me 
have it in the lower ribs once again. It's a 
rummy thing. Aunt Agatha is the one person 
in the world I daren't offend, and it always 
happens that everyone she sends to me with 
letters of introduction gets into trouble of some 
sort. And she always seems to think that I 
ought to have watched over them while they 
were in New York like a blend of nursemaid 
and guardian angel. Which, of course, is a bit 
thick and pretty scaly. 

There was only one gleam of comfort. 

" He isn't going to stay in New York long, 
Jeeves. He's headed for Washington. Going 
to give the chappies there the up-and-down 
before taking a whirl at the Diplomatic Service. 
So he ought to be leaving us eftsoons or right 
speedily, thank goodness. I should say a 
lunch and u couple of dinners Would about meet 
the case, what ? " 

" I fancy that should be entirely adequate, sin" 

He s'arted to put out my things, and there 
was an awkward sort of silence. 

" Not those socks, Jeeves," I said, gulping a bit 
but having a dash at the careless, off-hand sort 
of tone. " Give me the purple ones. ' 

" I beg your pardon, sir ? " said Jeeves, 

<f Those jolly purple ones." 

V Very good, sir." 

'He lugged them out of the drawer as if he 
were a vegetarian fishing a caterpillar out of 
his salad. You could see he was feeling deeply. 
Deuced painful and all that, this sort of thing, 
but a chappie has got to assert himself every 
now and then, if he doesn't want his valet to 
treat him as an absolute serf. Absolutely, 

I was looking for Cyril to show up again any 
time after breakfast, but he didn't appear : so, 
towards one o'clock, I trickled out to the club, 
where I had a date to feed the Wooster face 
with a pal of mine of tha name of Caffyn — ■ 
George Caffyn, a fellow who writes plays and 
what not. He was a bit late, but bobbed up 
finally, saying that he had been kept at a re- 
hearsal of his new piece, "Ask Dad," and we 
started in. We had just reached the coffee, 
when the waiter came up and said that Jeeves 
wanted to see me. 

Jeeves was in the waiting-room. He gave 
the socks one pained look as I came in, then 
averted his eyes. 

" Mr. Bassington-Bassington has just tele- 
phoned, sir." 

by Google 

" Why interrupt my lunch to tell me that, 
Jeeves ? It means little or nothing in my 
young life." 

" He was somewhat insistent that I should 
inform you at the earliest possible moment, 
sir, as he had been arrested and would be glad 
if you could step round and bail him out." 

" Arrested I " 

" Yes, sir." 

" What for ? " 

" He did not favour me with his confidence 
in that respect, sir." 
J' This is a bit thick, Jeeves." 

" Precisely, sir." 

" I suppose I had better totter round, what ? " 

" That might be the judicious course, sir.'" 

So I collected old George, who very decently 
volunteered to stagger along with me, and we 
hopped into a taxi. We sat around at the 
police-station for a bit on a wooden bench in a 
sort of ante-room, and presently a policeman 
appeared, leading in Cyril. 

"Halloa! Halloa! Halloa 1 " I said. "What? 

My experience is that a fellow never really 
looks his best just after he's come out of a cell. 
When I was up at Oxford, I used to have a 
regular job bailing out a pal of mine who never 
failed to get pinched every Boat-Race night, 
and he always looked like something that had 
been dug up by the roots. Cyril was in pretty 
much the same sort of shape. He had a black 
eye and a torn collar, and altogether was nothing' 
to write home about — especially if one was 
writing to Aunt Agatha. He was a thin, tall 
chappie with a lot of light hair and pale-blue 
goggly eyes which made him look like one of 
the rarer kind of fish. He had just that ex- 
pression of peeved surprise that one of those 
sheep's-head fish in Florida has when you haul 
it over the side of the boat. 

" I got your message," I said. 

" Oh, are you Bertie Wooster ? M 

*' Absolutely. And this is my pal George 
Caffyn. Writes plays and what not, don't 
you know." 

We all shook hands, and the policeman, 
having retrieved a piece of chewing-gum from 
the under-side of a chair, where he had parked 
it against a rainy day, went off into a corner 
and began to contemplate the infinite. 

" This is a rotten country," said Cyril. 

" Oh, I don't know, you know, don't you 
know ! " I said. 

" We do our best," said George. 

" Old George is an American," I explained. 
" Writes plays, don't you know, and what not." 

" Of course, I didn't invent the country," 
said George. " That was Columbus. But I 
shall be delighted to consider any improvements 
you may suggest and lay them before the proper 

" Well, why don't the policemen in New York 
dress properly ? " George took a look at the 
chewing officer across the room. 

" I don't see anything missing," he said. 

" I mean to say, why don't they wear helmets 
like they do in London ? Why do they look like 
postmen ? It isn't fair on a fellow. Makes 

Original from 




it dashed confusing. I was simply standing on 
the pavement, looking at things, when a fellow 
who looked like a postman prodded me in the 
ribs with a club. I didn't see why I should have 
postmen prodding me, Why the dickens should 
a fellow come three thousand miles to be prodded 
by postmen ? J * 

IJ The point is well taken/* said George* 
" What did you do ? " 

,f I gave hirri a shove, you know, I've got a 
frightfully hasty temper, you know- All the 
Bassington-Bassingtons have got frightfully 
hasty tempers, don't 
you know 1 One of 
these days the clan 
will go hurting some- 
body. And then he 
, biffed me in the eye 
and lugged me off to 
this beastly place. Jp 

"I'll fix it, old son/* 
I said. And I hauled 
out the bank-roll and 
went off to open nego- 
tiations, leaving Cyril 
to talk to George. I 
don't mind admitting 
that I was a bit per- 
turbed, There were 
furrows in the old 
brow, and I had a 
kind of foreboding 
feeling, As long as 
this chump stayed in 
New York, I was sort 
of responsible for him : 
and he didn't give me 
the impression of being 
the species of cove a 
reasonable chappie 
would care to be re- 
sponsible for for more 
than about three 

I mused with a con- 
siderable amount of 
tensity over Cyril that 
nigtjt, when I had got 
home and Jeeves had 
brought me the final 
whisky. I couldn't 
help feeling that this 
visit of his to America 
was going to lie one of 
those times that try 

men's souls and what not. I hauled out Aunt 
Agatha's letter of introduction and re-read it, 
and there was no getting away from the fact 
that she undoubtedly appeared to be somewhat 
wrapped up in this blighter and to consider it my 
mission in life to shield him from harm while on 
the premises. I was deuced thankful that he had 
taken such a liking for George Caffyn, old George 
being a steady sort of cove. After I had got 
him out oi his dungeon-cell, he and old George 
had gone off together, as chummy as brothers, 
to watch the afternoon rehearsal of "Ask Bad." 
There was some talk, I gathered, of their dining 

Digitized by GOOSIC 

togetner, I felt pretty easy in my mind* white 
George had his eye on him. 

I had got about as far as this in my medita- 
tions, when Jeeves came in with a telegram. 
At least, it wasn't a telegram : it was a cable — 
from Aunt Agatha, and this i.- what it said : — 
" Has Cyril BassiHgton-Bassington called 
yet ? On no account introduce him -into 
theatrical circles. Vitally important, LetUr 

I read it a couple of times 
" This is rummy, Jeeves ! " 

" Yes, sir? " 
" Very rummy and 
dashed disturbing I " 

" Will there be any- 
thing further to-night, 
sir? " 

Of course N if he was 
going to be as bally un- 
sympathetic as that 
there was nothing to 
be done. My idea had 
been to show him the 
cable and ask his ad- 
vice. But if he was 
letting those purple 
socks rankle to that 
extent, the good old 
noblesse oblige of the 
Woosters couldn't 
lower itself to the ex- 
tent of pleading with 
the man. Absolutely 
not. So I gave it a 

" Nothing more t 
" Good night, sir/* 
"Good night/* 
He floated away, 
and I sat down to 
think the thing over* 
I had been directing 
the best efforts of the 
old bean to the prob- 
lem for a matter of 
half an hour* when 
there was a ring at 
the bell, I went to 
the door, and there 
was Cyril, looking 
pretty festive. 

" I'll come in for a 
bit if I may,'- he said, 
" Got something rather priceless to tell you" 
He curveted past me into the sit ting -room, and 
when I got there after shutting the front door I 
found him reading Aunt Agatha's cable and 
giggling in a rummy sort of manner. " Oughtn't 
to have looked at this, I suppose. Caught sight 
of my name and read it without thinking, I say, 
Wooster, old friend of my youth r this is rather 
funny, Do yon mind if I have a drink ? Thanks 
awfully and all that sort of rot. Yes r its 
rather funny, considering what I came to tell 
you. Jolly old Caffyn has given me a small part 
in that musical comedy of his ( " Ask Dad/- Only 





a bit, you know, but quite tolerably ripe. I'm 
feeling frightfully braced, don't you know ! " 

He drank his drink, and went on. He didn't 
seem to notice that I wasn't jumping about the 
room, yapping with joy. 

" You know, I've always wanted to go on the 
stage, you know," he said. " But my jolly old 
guv'nor wouldn't stick it at any price. Put 
the old Waukeesi down with a bang, and turned 
bright purple whenever the subject was men- 
tioned. That's the real reason why I came over 
here, if you want to know. I knew there wasn't 
a chance of my being able to work this stage 
wheeze in London without somebody getting 
onto it and tipping orl the guv'nor, so I rather 
brainily sprang the scheme of popping over to 
Washington to broaden my mind. There's 
nobody to interfere on this side, you see, so I 
can go right ahead I " 

I tried to reason with the poor chump. 

44 But your guv'nor will have, to know some 

" That'll be all right. I shall be the jolly old 
star by then, and he won't have a leg to stand 

" It seems to me hell have one leg to stand 
on while he kicks me with the other." 

" Why, where do you come in ? What have 
you got to do with it ? " 

" I introduced you to George Caffyn." 

" So you did, old top, so you did. I'd quite 
forgotten. I ought to have thanked you before. 
Well, so long. There's an early rehearsal of 
' Ask Dad ' to-morrow morning, and I must be 
toddling. Rummy the thing should be called 
• Ask Dad,' whe.n that's just what I'm not going 
to do. See what I mean, what, what ? Well, 
pip-pip ! " 

" Toodle-00 ! " I said, sadly, and the blighter 
scudded off. I dived for the 'phone and called 
up George Caffyn. 

" I say, George, what's all this about Cyril 
Bassington-Bassington ? " 

" What about him ? " 

" He tells me you've given him a part in your 

" Oh, yes. Just a few lines." 

" But I've just had fifty-seven cables from 
home telling me on no account to let him go on 
the stage." 

" I'm sorry. But Cyril is just the type I need 
for that part. He's simply got to be himself." 

" It's pretty tough on me, George, old man. 
My Aunt Agatha sent this blighter over with a 
letter of introduction to me, and she will hold 
me responsible." 

" She'll cut you out of her will ? " 

" It isn't a question of money. But — of 
course, you've never met my Aunt Agatha, so 
it's rather hard to explain. But she's a sort of 
human vampire-bat, and she'll make things 
most fearfully unpleasant for me when I go 
back to England. She's the kind of woman 
who comes and rags you before breakfast, don't 
you know." 

" Well, don't go back to England, then. 
Stick here and become President." 

" But, George, old top ! 

by Google 

" Good night ! ' 

" But, I say, George, old man ! " 

" You didn't get my last remark. It was 
' Good night ! ' You Idle Rich may not need 
any sleep, but I've got to be bright and fresh in 
the morning. God bless you ! " 

I felt as if I hadn't a friend in the world. I 
was so jolly well worked up that I went and 
banged on Jeeves's door. It wasn't a thing I'd 
have cared to do as a rule, but it seemed to me 
that now was the time for all good men to come 
to the aid of the party, so to speak, and that it 
was up to Jeeves to rally round the young 
master, even if it broke up his beauty-sleep. 

Jeeves emerged in a brown dressing-gown. 

" Sir ? " 

" Deuced sorry to wjake you up. Jeeves, and 
what not, but all sorts of dashed disturbing 
things have been happening." 

" I was not asleep. It is my practice, on 
retiring, to read a few pages of some instructive 

" That's good I What I mean to say is, if 
you've just finished exercising the old bean, it's 
probably in mid-season form for tackling prob- 
lems. Jeeves, Mr. Bassington-Bassington 13 
going on the stage t " 

" Indeed, sir ? " 

" Ah ! The thing doesn't hit you ! You 
don't get it properly I Here's the point. 
All his family are most fearfully dead against 
his going on the stage. There's going to be no 
end of trouble if he isn't headed off. And, 
what's worse, my Aunt Agatha will blame me, 
you see. And you know what she is I " 

" Very much so, sir ! " 

" Well, can't you think of some way of 
stopping him ? " 

" Not, I confess, at the moment, sir.' 

" Well, have a stab at it." 

" I will give the matter my best consideration, 
sir. Will there be anything further to-night ? " 

" I hope not ! I've had all I can stand 

" Very good, sir." 

He popped off. 

The part which old George had written for 
the chump Cyril took up about two pages of 
typescript : but it might have been Hamlet, 
the way that poor, misguided pinhead worked 
himself to the bone over it. I suppose, if I 
heard him his lines once, I did it a dozen times 
in the first couple of days. He seemed to think 
that my only feeling about the whole affair was 
one of enthusiastic admiration, and that he 
could rely on my support and sympathy. What 
with trying to imagine how Aunt Agatha was 
going to take this thing and being woken up out 
of the dreamless in the small hours every other 
night to give my opinion of some new bit of 
business which Cyril had invented, I became 
more or less the good old shadow. And all the 
time Jeeves remained still pretty cold and 
distant about the purple socks. It's this sort 
of thing that ages a chappie, don't you know, 
and makes his youthful joie-de-vivre go a bit 
groggy at the knees. 

In the middle oL it Aunt Agatha's letter 




arrived. It took her about six pages to do 
justice to Cyril's father's feelings in regard to 
his going on the stage and about six more to 
give me a kind of sketch of what she would say, 
think, and do if I didn't keep him clear of 
injurious influences while he was in America. 
The letter came by the afternoon onail, and left 
me with a pretty firm conviction that it wasn't 
a thing I ought to keep to myself. I didn't 
even wait to ring the bell : I whizzed for the 
kitchen, bleating for Jeeves, and butted into 
the middle of a regular tea-party of sorts. 
Seated at the table were a depressed-looking 
cove who might have been a valet or something 
and a boy in a Norfolk suit. The valet-chappie 
was drinking a whisky and soda, and the boy 
'was being tolerably rough with some jam and 

" Oh, I say,. Jeeves ! " I said. " Sorry to 
interrupt the feast of reason and flow of soul 
and so forth, but " 

At this juncture the small boy's eye hit me 
like a bullet and stopped me in my tracks. It 
was one of those cold, clammy, accusing sort of 
eyes — the kind that make you reach up to see 
if your tie is straight : and he looked at me as 
if I were some sort of unnecessary product 
which Cuthbert the Cat had brought in after a 
ramble among the local ash-cans, He was a 
stoutish infant with a lot of freckles and a good 
deal of jam on his face. 

" Halloa 1 Halloa ! Halloa ! " I said. " What ? " 
There didn't seem much else to say. 

The stripling stared at me in a nasty sort of 
way through the jam. He may have loved me 
at first sight, but the impression he gave me was 
that he didn't think a lot of me and wasn't 
betting much that I would improve a. great deal 
on accfuaintance. I had a kind of feeling that 
I was about as popular with him as a cold 
Welsh rabbit. 

" What's your name ? " he asked. 

" My name ? Qh, Wooster, donjt,you know, 
and what not." 

" My pop's richer than you are I " 

That seemed to be all about me. The child 
having said his say, started in on the jam again. 
I turned to Jeeves. 

" I say, Jeeves, can you spare a moment ? I 
want to show you something." 

" Very good, sir." We toddled into the 

" Who is your little friend, Sidney the Sun- 
beam, Jeeves ? " 

" The young gentleman, sir ? " 

" It's a loose way of describing him, but I 
know what you mean." 

" I trust I was not taking a liberty in enter- 
taining him, sir ? " 

" Not a bit. If that's your idea of a large 
afternoon, go ahead." 

" I happened to meet the young gentleman 
taking a walk with his father's valet, sir, whom 
I used to know somewhat intimately in London, 
and I ventured to invite them both to join me 

" Well, never mind about him, Jeeves. Read 
this letter." He gave it the up-and-down. 



" Very -disturbing, sir ! " was all he coujd find 
to say. 

" What are we going to do about it ? " 

" Time may provide a solution, sir." 

" On the other hand, it mayn't, what ? " 

" Extremely true, sir." 

We'd got as far as this, when there was a ring 
at the door. Jeeves shimmered off, and Cyril 
blew in, full of good cheer and blitheringness. 
- "I say, Wooster, old thing," he said, " I want 
your advice. You know this jolly old part of 
mine. How ought I to dress it ? What I mean 
is, the first act scene is laid in an hotel of sorts, 
at about three in the afternoon. What ought 
I to wear, do you think ? " 

I wasn't feeling fit for a discussion of gent's 

" You'd better consult Jeeves," I said. 

" A hot and by no means unripe idea I Where 
is he ? " 

" Gone bacjc to the kitchen, I suppose." 

" I'll smite the good old bell, shall I ? Yes. 


Jeeves poured silently in. 

" Oh, I say, . Jeeves," began Cyril, " I just 
wanted to have a syllable or two. with you. It's 
this way Halloa, who's this ? " 

I then perceived that the stout stripling had 
trickled into the room after Jeeves. He was 
standing near the door, looking at Cyril as if 
his worst fears had been realized. There was a 
bit of a silence. The child remained there, 
drinking Cyril in for about half a minute ; then 
he gave his verdict : — 

"Fish-face!" ' '.-._• 

" Eh ? What ? " said Cyril. 

The child, who had evidently be^n* taught at 
his mother's knee to speak the truth, .made his 
meaning a .trifle clearer. "•*:.. 

" You've a face like a fish I " . 

He spoke as il Cyril was more to be pitied 
than censured, which I'm bound to say- 1 thought 
rather decent and broad-minded of him. I 
don't mind admitting that, whenever I looked 
at Cyril's face, I always had a feeling that he 
couldn't have got that way without its being 
mostly his own fault. I found myself warming 
to this child. Absolutely, don't you know. I 
liked his conversation. 

It seemed to take Cyril a moment or two 
really to grasp the thing, and then you could 
hear the blood of the Bassington-Bassingtons 
begin ^q sizzle. 

" Well, I'm dashed ! " he said. " I'm dashed 
if I'm not !* " 

" I wouldn't have a face like that, "'proceeded 
the child, with a good deal of earnestness, " not 
if you gave me a million dollars." He thought 
for a moment, then corrected himself. " Two 
million dollars 1 " he added. 

Just what occurred then I couldn't exactly 
say, but the next few minutes were a bit 
exciting. I take it that Cyril must have made 
a dive for the infant. Anyway, the* air seemed 
pretty well congested with arms and legs and 
things. Something bumped into the Wooster 
waistcoat fust around the third button, and I 




collapsed 011 to the settee and rather lost interest 
in things for the moment. When I had un- 
scrambled myself, I found that Jeeves and the 
child had retired and Cyril was standing in the 
middle of the room snorting a bit. 

" Who's that frightful little brute, Wooster ? * 

** I don't know* I never saw him before to- 
day/ 1 

f ' I gave him a couple of tolerably juicy buffets 
before he legged it. I say, Wooster, that kid 
said a dashed odd thing. He yelled out some- 
thing about Jeeves promising him a dollar if he 
called me — er — what he said/ 

It sounded pretty unlikely to me. 

" What would Jeeves do that for ? " 

" It struck me as rummy, too/* 

" Where would be the sense of it ? " 

and last into the small hours, but more exciting 
because they wouldn't be timing the piece and 
consequently all the blighters who on these 
occasions let their angry passions rise would 
have plenty of scope for interruptions, with the 
result that a pleasant time would be had by all. 
The thing was billed to start at eight o'clock, 
so I rolled up at ten -fifteen, so as not to have 
too long to wait before they began. The dress- 
parade was still going on, George was on the 
stage, talking to a cove in shirtsleeves and an 
absolutely round chappie with big spectacles 
and a practically hairless dome. I had seen 
George with the latter merchant once or twice 
at the club, and I knew that lie was Blumenheld, 
the manager. I waved to George, and slid into 
a seat at the back of the house, so as to be out 


h % 



HIS verdict; 'FISH-FACE I " J 


" That's what I can't see/' 

" I mean to say. it's nothing to Jeeves what 
sort of a face you have I " 

" No ! " said Cyril* He spoke a little coldly, 
I fancied. I don't know why. *' Well, I'll be 
popping. Toodle-00 1 " 

4t Pip-pip I " 

It must have been about a week after this 
rummy little episode that George Caffyn called 
me up and asked me if I would care to go and 
see a run-through of his show, "Ask T>ad," it 
seemed, was to open out of town in Schenectady 
on the following Monday, and this was to be a 
sort of preliminary dress- rehearsal. A pre- 
liminary dress -rehearsal, old George explained, 
was the same as a regular dress- rehearsal inas- 
much as it was apt to look like nothing on earth 


of the way when the fighting started, Presently 
George hopped down off the stage and came and 
joined me, and fairly soon after that the curtain 
went down. The chappie at the piano whacked 
out a well-meant bar or two p and the curtain 
went up again. 

I can't quite recall what the plot of "Ask Dad" 
was about, but I do know that it seemed able 
to jog along all right without much help from 
Cyril. I was rather puzzled at first. What I 
mean is, through brooding on Cyril and hearing 
him in his part and listening to his views on what 
ought and what ought not to foe done, I suppose 
I had got a sort of impression rooted in the old 
bean that he was pretty welt the backbone of 
the show, and that the rest of the company 
didn't do much except go on and fill in when he 


I3 2 


happened to be off the stage. I sat there for 
nearly hall an hour, waiting for him to make 
his entrance t until I suddenly discovered he had 
been on irom the start. He was, in fact, the 
mm my -looking ping -ugly who was now leaning 
against a potted palm a couple of feet from the 
Q.P. side, trying to appear intelligent while the 
heroine sang a song about Love being like some- 
thing which for the moment has slipped my 
memory. After the second refrain he began to 
dance in company with a dozen other equally 
weird birds, the whole platoon giving rather the 
impression of a bevy of car-conductors from 
Akron, Ohio, dressed up in their Sunday clothes 
for a swift visit to the city. A painful spectacle 
for one who could see a vision of Aunt Agatha 
reaching for the hatchet and old Bassington- 
Bassington senior putting on his strongest 
pair of hob -nailed boots. x\bsoIutely ! 

The dance had just finished, and Cyril and his 
pals had shuffled off into the wings when a voice 
spoke from the darkness on my right. 

"Pop!" • 

Old Blumen field clapped his hands, and the 
hero, who had }ust been about to get the next 
line off his diaphragm, cheesed it. I peered into 
the shadows. 
Who should it 
be but Jecvcs's 
little playmate 
with the freckles! 
He was now 
strolling down 
the aisle with 
his hands in his 
pockets as if the 
place belonged 
to him* An air 
of respectfulat- 
tention seemed 
to pervade the 

ij Pop," said 
the stripling, 
" that num- 
bers no good." 
Old Blum en field 
beamed over his 

" Don't you 
likeit, darling?" 

" Jt gives me 
a pain/' 

" You're dead 


" You want 
something zippy 
there. Some- 
thing with a bit 
of jazz to it 3 " 

" Quite right, my bov, I'll make a note of it. 
All right. Go on I " 

1 lurried to George, win? was muttering to 
himself in rather an overwrought way. 

** I say, George, old man, who the dickens is 
that kid ? " 

Old George groaned a bit hollowly, as if things 
were a trifle thick. 

Digitized by dOOSle 

" I didn't know he had crawled in ! It's 
Blumcnfi eld's son. Now we're going to have a 
Hades of a timet '* 

* J Does he always run things like this ? '* 

" Always ! " 

" But why does old Blumenneld listen to him? " 

1T Nobody seems to know* It may be pure 
fatherly love, or he may regard him as a mascot. 
My own idea is that he thinks the kid has exactly 
the amount of intelligence of the average member 
of an audience, and that what makes a bit with 
him will please the general public. While, 
conversely, what he doesn't like will be too 
rotten for anyone. The kid is a pest, a wart, 
and a pot of poison, and should be strangled ! M 

The rehearsal went on. The hero got off his 
line* There was a slight outburst of fright fulness 
between the stage -manager and a Voice named 
Hill that came from somewhere near the roof, the 
subject under discussion being where the devil 
Bill's " ambers " were at that particular juncture. 
Then things went on again until the moment 
arrived for Cyril's big scene. 

I was still a trifle hazy about the plot, but I 
had got on to the fact that Cyril w T as some sort 
of an English peer who had come over to America 

M0RE H *g 



doubtless for the best reasons. So far he had 
only had two lines to say* One was 'Oh, I 
say ! ' and the other way * Yes, by Jove ! ' : but 
I seemed to recollect, from hearing him Ins part, 
that pretty soon he was due rather to spread 
himself. I sat back in my seat and waited for 
him to bob up, 

He bobbec!||ijJ>iP]a( t ^ft5r , n five minutes later. 




Things had got a bit stormy by that time. The 
Voice and the stage-director had had another 
of their love- feasts —this time something to do 
with why Bill's u blues'' weren't on the job or 
something, And, almost as soon as that was 
over, there was a bit of unpleasantness because 
a flower-pot fell off a window-ledge and nearly 
brained the hero. The atmosphere was conse- 
quently more or less hotted up when Cyril, who 
had been hanging about at the back of the 
stage with a squad of his Akron inseparables. 

breezed down centre and toed the mark for his 
most substantial chunk of entertainment. The 
heroine had been saying something — I forget 
what : something about Love being some tiling 
or not being something, if you follow me —and 
all the car-conductors, with Cyril at their head, 
had begun to surge round her in the restless sort* 
of way those chappies always do when there's 
a number coming along. 

Cyril's first Jinc was, " Oh, I say, you know, 
you mustn't say that, rcatly ! " and it seemed 
to me he passed it over the larynx with a goo dish 
deal of vim and je-ne-sais-quoi. But, by Jove, , 
before the heroine had time for the come-back, 
our little friend with the freckles had risen to 
lodge a protest, 

" Pop! " 

" Yes, darling ? " 

" That one's no good I J ' 

M Which one, darling ? " 

" The one with a face like a fish.*' 

" But they all have faces like fish, darling." 

The child seemed to see the justice of this 
objection. He became more definite* 

" The ugly one." 

" Which ugly one ? That one ? " said old 
BIumenfield + pointing to Cyril. 

" Yep I He's rotten I 

by Google 

" I thought so myself." 
" He's a pill ! " 

" You're dead right, my boy* . I've noticed 
it for some, time/' 

Cyril had been gaping a bit while these few 
remarks were in progress. He now shot down 
to the footlights. Even from where I was sitting, 
I could see that these harsh words had hit the 
old Bassington-Bassington family pride a fright- 
ful wallop. He started to get pink in the ears, 
and then in the nose, and then in the checks, 

till in about a 
quarter of a 
minute he looked 
pretty much like 
an explosion in a 
tomato cannery 
on a sunset 

"What the 
deuce do you 
mean ? " 

J " What the 
deuce do y » 
mean? T * shouted 
old Blu men field. 
" Don't yell at 
me across the 
footlights! " 

' L I've a dashed 
good mind to 
come down and 
spank that little 
brute I " 
" What I M 
,r A dashed 
good mind 1 " 

Old Blumen- 
fieJd swelled like 
a p u m p e d-u p 
tyre. He got rounder than ever, 

" See here, Mister — 1 don't know your darn 

name 1 " 

"My name's Bassington-Bassington, and the 
jolly old Bassington-Bassingtons — I mean the 

Bassington-Bassingtuns aren't accustomed -" 

Old Blumenfield told him in a few brief words 
pretty much what lie thought of the Bassington- 
Bassingtons and what they weren't accustomed 
to. The whole strength of the company rallied 
round to enjoy his re m arks* You could see 
them jutting out from the wings and protruding 
from behind trees. 

" You got to work good for my pop ! " said 
the stout child, waggling his head reprovingly 
at Cyril. 

(H I don't want any bally cheek from you I ** 
said Cvril # gurgling a bit. 

"What's that?" barked old Blumenfield* 
" Do you understand that this bov is my son ? " 
" Yes, I do/' said Cyril. " And you both 
have my sympathy I " 

" You're fired ! '* bellowed old Blumenneld, 
swelling a good bit more. " Get out of my 
theatre ! " 

About half-past ten next morning, just after 
I had finished lubricating the pood old interior 




with a soothing cup of Oolong, Jeeves filtered 
into my bedroom, and said that Cyril was waiting 
to see me in. the sitting-room. 

" How does he look, Jeeves ? " 

" Sir ? " 

" What does Mr. B;ssington-Bassington look 
like ? " 

4 ' It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the 
facial peculiarities of your friends." 

" I don't mean that. I mean, does he appear 
peeved and what not ? " 

" Not noticeably, sir. His manner is tranquil." 

" That's rum 1 " 

" Sir ? " 

" Nothing. Show him in, will you ? " 

I'm bound to say I had expected to see 
Cyril showing a few .more traces of last night's 
battle. I was looking for a bit of the over- 
wrought soul and the quivering ganglions, if you 
know what I mean. He seemed pretty ordinary 
and quite fairly cheerful. 

" Halloa, Wooster, old thing ! " 


" I just looked in to say good-bye." 

" Good-bye ? " 

" Yes. I'm off to Washington in an hour." 
He sat down on the bed. " You know, Wooster, 
old top," he went on, " I've been thinking it all 
over, and really it doesn't seem quite fair to the 
jolly old guv'nor, my going on the stage and so 
forth. What do you think ? " 

" I see what you mean." 

" I mean to say, he sent me over here to 
broaden my jolly old mind and words to that 
effect, don't you know, and I can't help thinking 
it would be a bit of a jar for the old boy if I 
gave him the bird and went on the stage instead. 
I don't know if you understand me, but what I 
mean to say is, it's a sort of question of con- 

" Can you leave the show without upsetting 
everything ? " 

" Oh, that's all right. I've explained every- 
thing to old Blumenfield, and he quite sees my 
position. Of course, he's sorry to lose me — 
said he didn't see how he could fill my place 
and all that sort of thing — but, after all, even 
if it does land him in a bit of a hole, I think I'm 
right in resigning my part, don't you ? " 

° Oh, absolutely." 

" I thought you'd agree with me. 'Well, I 
ought to be shifting. Awfully glad to have seen 
something of you, and all that sort of rot. 
Pip-pip ! " 

11 Toodle-oo ! " 

He sallied forth, having told all those bally 
lies with the clear, blue, pop-eyed gaze of a young 
child. I rang for Jeeves, You know, ever 

since last night I had been exercising the old 
bean to some extent, and a good deal of light 
had dawned upon me. 

" Jeeves ? " 

" Sir ? " 

" Did you put that pie-faced infant up w 
ballyragging Mr. Bassington-Bassington ? " 

'• Sir ? " 

" Oh, you know what I mean. Did you teU 
him to get Mr. Bassington-Bassington sackea 
from the ' Ask Dad ' company ? " 

" I would not take such a liberty, sir." He 
started to put out my clothes. " It is possible 
that young Master Blumenfield may have 
gathered from casual remarks of mine that I 
did not consider the stage altogether a suitable 
sphere for Mr. Bassington-Bassington." 

" I say. Jeeves, you know, you're a bit of a 
marvel. A chappie can generally rely on you, 
don't- you know. Absolutely!" 

" I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir." 

" And I'm frightfully obliged, if you know 
what I mean. Aunt Agatha would have had 
sixteen or seventeen fits if you hadn't headed 
him off." 

" I fancy there might have been some little 
friction and unpleasantness, sir. I am laying 
out the blue suit with the thin red stripe, sir. 
I fancy the effect will be pleasing." 

It's a rummy thing, but I had finished break- 
fast and gone out and got as far as the elevator 1 
before I remembered what it was that I had 
meant to do to reward Jeeves for his really 
sporting behaviour in this matter of the chump 
Cyril. My heart warmed to the chappie. 
Absolutely. It cut me to the heart to do it, 
but I had decided to give him his way and let 
those purple socks pass out of my life. After 
all, there are times when a cove must make 
sacrifices. I was just going to nip back and 
• break the glad news to him, when the elevator 
came up, so I thought I would leave it till I got 

The coloured chappie in charge of the elevator 
looked at me, as I hopped in, with a good deal 
* of quiet devotion and what not. 

" I wish to thank yo\ suh," he said, " for yo' 

" Eh ? What ? " 

" Misto' Jeeves done give me them purple socks, 
as you told him. Thank yo' very much # suh ! " 

I looked down. The blighter was a blaze of 
mauv*e from the ankle-bone southward. I don't . 
know when I've seen anything so dressy. 

" Oh, ah ! Not at all ! Right-o ! Glad you 
like them ! " I said. 

Well, I mean to say, what ? Absolutely I 

by Google 

Original from 


\ ■» 



. A group of aliens, inspired by a great fear cf air 
.aids, sought a refuge some little way out of London. 
They found a curiously-built square house. All the 
living rooms were on the ground floor, and all the 
sleeping apartments (I had almost written " dying 
rooms") were on the three upper floors, approached 
by a well staircase in the centre, as shown in the 
illustration. It will be seen that there were eight 
rooms on every floor. The owner consented to let the 
house on condition that every bedroom was occupied, 
that not more than three persons should sleep in any 
room, and that the same number should sleep on each 
of the three floors. Then, thinking this was too easy 
(for he was disposed to put the applicants off), he 
added, " And I insist that nineteen persons shall sleep 
on each of the four sides of the house." To his sur- 

l*( Floor 

2ni FLOOR 

3rd Floor 

prise these conditions were accepted, and when the 
company arrived they were correctly accommodated, 
A few weeks later nine more of their friends arrived 
and these were put up, again without breaking the 
conditions. Now, how many persons were there before 
and after the nine arrived ? And how might they have 
been placed in the rooms ? This is an extension, from 
two floors to three, of an old puzzle of mine, and will, 
I think, be found interesting. 

Here is a quite new form of word puzzle. You 
take a word of four letters, then add two letters so 
that the last four spell a new word, then add two 
more letters so that the final four again spell a word, 
And so on until you reach a ghen final word. If, for 
example, you have to change WEST to EAST, you 
might proceed as follows :.WESTAREAST, 
where the chain of words is WEST, STAR, AREA, 
EAST. Now try in the same way to change ARMY 
into NAVY. AH the words must be English dictionary 
ones, and proper names are not allowed, such as Anna 
and Mary. The chain should be as short as possible. 

I AM perpetually receiving inquiries about this old 
puzzle. I published it in 1899, t> ut nave smce found 
that it first appeared in the first volume of Knmvltdge 
(1881). It has since been dealt with at some length 
by various writers. The point is to express all possible 
whole numbers with four fours (no more and no fewer), 
using the various arithmetical signs. Thus 4X4+J 
equals 17, and 44+4+ vT equals 50. All numbers up 
to 100 inclusive may be solved, using only the signs for 
.addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, square 
root, decimal points, and the factorial sign li. which 
means 1x2x3x4,01 24. I will leave the reader to 
try his skill on 89. There are three different solutions 
for this number. Can you find one ? 

There is a monosyllable which, if you add to it a 
single letter, becomes a word of three syllables. Readers 
cf this page will not have far to seek. 

Solutions to Last MontVs Puzzles. 

The drawing cannot be executed under the con- 
ditions in fewer than thirteen lines. We have therefore 
to find the longest of these thirteen lines. In the 

illustration we start at A and end at B, or the reverse. 
The dotted lines represent the lines omitted. It 
requires a little thought. Thus, the unbioken line 
from D to C is longer than the dotted line, therefore 
we take the former. Again, we can get in a little more 
of the drawing by taking the tongue rather than the 
mouth, but the part of the tongue that ends in a 
straight line has to be omitted. 

Jabez took 101 geese to market. He sold Brown 
51 (half the flock and half a goose over), sold Woods 
17 (a third of the 50 and a third of a goose over), sold 
Widow Winter 9 (or a quarter of 33 and three-quarters 
of a goose over), and sold Tompkins 5 (one-fifth of 
24 and one-fifth of a goose over). This left him exactly 
19 in hand, and he had not divided a gocse. The 
easiest way of solving the puzzle is to woik backwards 
from the 19. 

The name of the book is " ROBINSON CRUSOE." 
Start at the upper R and pass to the letters in this 
order : R in Sunburn, O and B in Ablution, I and N 
in Diamonds, first S and in Obverses, N and C in 
Neologic, R and U in Upholder, S and second O in 
Solution, and E and the lower star in Puzzler. All 
the letters have been struck out once and once only 
in the fewest possible straight lines, and the letters at 
the turnings spell the name of the book. 

416.— A CHARADE. 
Living— stone. 


417.— AN ENIGMA. 

by L^OOgle 

Original from 

The Pig and Poultry Problem. 


Illustrated by J. A. Shepherd. 


SHALL persevere like a Briton 
as long as this war lasts, but, 
as the convict says in the story, 
it's hard to understand the 
authorities. I am living in the 
country, but till this war came 
to shake me up (and some 
others) I was living there rather 
like a visiting townsman. I had not naturalized 
myself, so to speak, by the acquisition of pig, 
cow, and poultry interests. I still shirk the 
cow, but as to pigs and poultry I have done my 
best to be effective and enthusiastic since the 
war began, and am still struggling along in the 
wake of the agile authorities, doing my best to 
keep up in their bewildering steeplechase over a 
stiff country of regulations, permits, prohibitions, 
warnings, encouragements, discouragements, 
threats, promises, advice, penalties, taxes, 
charges, directions, misdirections, orders, and 

In 19x4 I began to keep pigs. I knew nothing 
about the business then, and all I have learnt 

coiner of genuine sovereigns from spurious 
refuse. Garbage built up the pig, it seemed, the 
pig became bacon, and bacon was wealth. So 
I bought pigs. 

Or rather, I sent Potter to buy them. Potter 
is my gardener, and knows everything about 
everything in gardens and farms and piggeries 
and hen-coops and barns and cowsheds and such 
places ; so I judge, at any rate, by his elderly 
advice on these matters and everything else. 
Potter bought the pigs of Prodgers, a small 
farmer close by, who knows even mpre than 
Potter, and also advises me, in the intervals of 
Potter. The pigs came rather dear, I thought, 
but Potter and Prodgers unanimously assured 
me that any real judge of pigs would count it a 
great piece of luck to get such pigs at such a 
ridiculous price, which nothing but a fortunate 
series of coincidences in local pig-politics made 
possible. So no doubt I was mistaken. Pigsties 
also I bought, again through the invaluable 
medium of Prodgers vitt Potter. They came in 
unidentifiable though obviously second-hand 


since nad very little to do with the pigs them- 
selves. It is contained in newspapers, orders, 
biscuit-coloured forms, and — especially — bills 
for pig-food and pig-lodgings. I was attracted 
by more than one glowing newspaper article 
wherein the common pig was described as a sort 
of bundle of magic whereby every sort of rubbish 
was transmuted into wealth immeasurable — an 
alchemist in himself, a pilosopher's stone, a 

fractions, and were jig-sawed together by Potter 
wrth great assiduity while the garden beds got 
weedy and the lettuces " bolted " tp seed. But 
war was beginning, and I felt pleased with my 
pig-project, which yielded a certain snug sense 
of provisioning the garrison against the enemy. 

Speaking of provisioning, by the way, I soon 
discovered that pig-food was not all garbage. 
There was meal and swedes and mangels and 

by V^ 



'-| 1 1 I tf I I I '.' I 1 1 




ether things * Potter got them through the 
invaluable Prodgers, who, it seemed, was far 
better situated than such a mere outsider as 
myself for getting this kind of thing of the 
proper sort, at the proper price. On the whole* 
the proper price seemed to be rather high. 

Pigs without poultry, however, left my 
establishment out of balance. Potter assured 
me ; it had a lopsided effect that no country 
gentleman should tolerate. Moreover, such 
Was the fortune of war that Prodgers was 
possessed of a particularly choice strain of Buff 

is always convincing to anybody who couldn't 
tell a calory from a proteid if he met it in the 
street. This gentleman showed quite clearly 
that poultry was a deadly snare, and the most 
effective device yet invented for abolishing 
corn and giving nothing in exchange. 

Now I had been having something in exchange 
h — a few eggs. Fewer than I expected, certainly ; 
in fact, sometimes fewer than I had actually 
counted in the nests. But Potter explained that 
I had probably been counting in the china 
specimens planted as models for the hens to 


Orpingtons, some of which, by the judicious 
diplomacy of Potter, he might be induced to 
part with at a price perhaps not quite ho absurdly 
low as that of the pigs, but, at any rate, a 
bargain. So I became a proprietor of Burl 
Orpingtons. t 

When they arrived I learned from Potter that, 
always observant in rny interests, his visit to 
Prodgers 's had revealed the presence of Leghorns 
and White Wyandottcs, And just as poultry 
was required to balance pigs* so Leghorns and 
White Wyandottes in any well -con ducted poultry 
yard were necessary to balance Buff Orpingtons, 
as was obvious to the meanest intelligence (mine). 

With my Leghorns, Wyandottes, Orpingtons, 
and pigs about me, I felt the country was no 
longer in danger. And soon my stock was re- 
inforced — by rats and sparrows. I was sur- 
rounded by life and bustle, and mightily 
exhilarated to observe how many happy, hungry 
creatures were depending on me for their living, 
in addition to Potter. The price of poultry- food 
—also of pig-lood (both doing equally well for 
rats and sparrows) — mounted surprisingly, and if 
it had not been for the subtle advantages of 
buying it all through Prodgers I might have 
grown discouraged, 

But "I didn't really begin to think about dis- 
couragement till I read an article in a newspaper 
by a " food expert." I had never heard the 
gentleman's name before, and in fact could not 
remember having previously heard of any other 
food expert. But this gentleman was so very 
certain about everything that he must have been 
right. Moreover, he talked about calories, which 

Digitized by W 

work by, and anyhow there is nothing quite so 
confusing to count as eggs, because of the family 

But the food expert would hear nothing of 
eggs. Any number of eggs would never pay for 
the corn, In fact, he hinted that eggs were the 
ruin of Europe, and the more we had the worse 
off we should be. Other food experts joined in, 
and the great poultry danger overshadowed the 
country, Soon we heard ominous hints of 
Government interference. Cocks and hens were 
ruiKlrinucd tu drntli in .ill tlu- news] apers. 
Everybody should eat nothing but poultry for 
a month, was one suggestion ; but that was 
quite reasonable by comparison with others. At 
any rate, poultry was to be got rid of somehow, 
and all poultry -food was to be cut off. Anybody 
keeping a hen was a traitor, an ally of the Boche, 
a by- word, and a reproach. 

I consulted Potter. He consulted Prodgers. 
Prodgers consulted my interests entirely. Rather 
than I should be stigmatized an enemy of my 
Struggling country, Prodgers would take the 
odium on himself. He would take the fowls off 
my hands : and he touk them, at a reduction 
on the original price commensurate with the 
horrible prospect before the guilty owner of- 
those fowls, 

I breathed a^ain, for a little while. Then 
another food expert, far more expert than the 
first, and not able merely to talk of calorics, 
but equal to explaining the metabolism of nitro- 
genous hydrocarbons as related to the intercostal 
in gurgitation of something or other, wrote a 
longer article in a larger newspaper which utterly 




abolished the previous expert, and proved beyond 
dispute that poultry - farmers were the only 
remaining guarantee against national starvation. 
It was beyond his comprehension, he said, how 
his otherwise sane countrymen could be induced* 
to listen to such unscientific flapdoodle as was 
offered in the guise of authoritative advice on 
matters of egg-production. And, in another 
part of the same newspaper, I observed that a 
sub-deputy-assistant supernumerary controller 
of a new Government office, in course of an inter- 
view, indignantly repudiated the unfounded 
rumour that it was the intention of the Govern- 
ment to discourage poultry-keeping, and urged, 
on the contrary, that anybody who had a bird- 
cage or a window-box which could be covered 
with wire should keep at least one hen a^ a 
matter of patriotic duty. Pigs, now, there might 

be some doubt about, but as to poultry 

This was authoritative, and though I felt 
momentarily uneasy abput the pigs, I saw that 
there must be no hesitation about poultry. 
Prodgers's inability to return my fowls grieved 

peremptory and final. Pigs were eating grain and 
meal ; pigs were the ruin of the country. Death 
to the pig. All meat but pork should be pro- 
hibited till the pig was extinct, demanded people 
writing letters to the papers. Pigs were eating 
what would more economically feed fowls ; pigs 
must go. 

Death by the knife is the fate of all pigs, but 
mine were so very young and innocent and pink 
that I felt shocked, and hesitated even when 
Potter mentioned that Prodgers had influential 
connections in the pork-butchery interest, 
whereby all the load of worry could be removed 
from my shou'ders. And while I hesitated, the 
very great official came out with an indignant 
repudiation of the remarks, which, he said, were 
attributed to him by an incompetent reporter. 
What he really said was that both pigs and 
poultry should be kept, but fed on nothing but 
waste from the kitchen ; every other sort of 
food was to be strictly prohibited, but waste 
from the kitchen would keep all the pigs and 
poultry going prosperously, he assured us. and 




him sadly, but it seemed that his responsibility 
had so overwhelmed him that he had got rid 
of them at a sacrifice ; but he was ready to use 
his influence to get some more, though just 
now prices, under the stimulus of the sub-deputy- 
assistant supernumerary's statement, were per- 
fectly shocking. 

So a new platoon of cocks and hens marched 
in, triumphant and assertive, Potter bringing 
up the rear with the bill. 

But the official hint about pigs was no false 
alarm. Very soon came a thunderous announce- 
ment from a very great official, who was sub- 
deputy to nobody and with nothing supernumerary 
about him. Pigs must be slaughtered. That was 

by Google 

so provide a vast store of valuable and nutri- 
tious food which would avert all risk of— etc., 
etc., etc. 

Before the last echoes of this official pro- 
nunciamento died away, there came a louder 
proclamation than any. There must be no more 
kitchen waste. Valuable food was being thrown 
away daily by careless waste in the kitchen ; 
excellent and nutritious provender which would 
keep thousands of families for hundreds of weeks 
was being thrown to the pigs and poultry every 
day. Drastic penalties would be imposed for 
this form of crime, and a new corps of inspectors 
formed, with notebooks, rubbish hooks, and 
salaries complete, to rake all dustbins endwise 

Original from 


J 39 


and sue for heavy penalties on every potato 
pe-Hing discovered. 

Even the pigs began to wear a puzzled look 
after this, and the poultry went about with 
heads permanently and thoughtfully cocked 
aside, waiting for an exp an at ion. It was some 
time before it came, and then it appeared by 
way of answer to a deputation r Cocks should 
be got rid of, it seemed, a. so unprofitable hens ; 
but once this blend of domestic breavcinent and 
invidious distinction was accomplished you 
might keep all other poultry as we. I as pigs, 
providing you didn't feed them. That was the 
one and only condition— they must not be fed. 
This was made clear by the list of things they 
mustn t have, 

But obviously 
there were diffi- 
c u 1 1 i e S here. 
People attempt- 
ing to keep any 
sort of animals 
without feeding 
them are iable 
to quarrel with 
a certain ener- 
getic society* 
Deep thinkers 
got to work, and 
soon their de- 
cision was an- 
nounced. All 
but twenty per 
cent, of the 
poultry in the 
country must be 
killed off at once. 

Dull persons affected not to see clearly how this 
process was to provide food for the surviving 
twenty per cent., and the pigs. Also mathe- 
matical puzzles were provided ; as, for instance, 
what is twenty per cent, of a full brood of 
thirteen chicks ? 

But before the problem could be fairly tackled, 
or the anxious hens bereaved of their families, 
it was announced with indignation that the 
twenty per cent, expedient was unauthorized, 
unofficial, unpractical, unheard-of, unthinkable, 
unprecedented, uncalled-for, hunky doodle. The 
true, correct, authorized, and official scheme 
was that all sorts of corn might be used to feed 
fowls, also pigs, providing it was of no use lor 

anything else. 
Damaged corn - 
that is to say, 
corn so far 
damaged as not 
to be fit for mill- 
ing. This was 
good news, and 
I instantly dis- 
patched Potter 
to buy damaged 
com. But dam- 
aged corn, it 
appeared, was 
also wanted by 
everybody else, 
and there was 
precious little of 
it, The price of 
such damaged 
corn as existed 
was soaring 
wildly in re- 
sponse to the 
sudden demand* 


by Google 

Original from 



Still, there was always Prodgers, Such was Pled- 
gers' s devotion to my interests that he wou'd see 
that I got my damaged corn, if he had to damage 
Especially for me. Moreover, a pa ernal Govern- 
ment had seen to it that Prodgers should not 
suffer by his devotion, for it had fixed a price 
for sound, mil] able wheat, above which price not 
a pint must be so!d. But there was no fixed 

of jewels ? The wise old cock who assured her 
that all the jewels in the world were not worth 
one bar ley -corn was prtbably treated with such 
wifely scorn as might be expected- He has had 
to watt two thousand years, but he is vindicated 
at last. The scrambling habits of hens at feeding 
time would seem to make them unlikely prac- 
fc£ oners of the queue habit \ but if every hen 



price for damaged corn, which, therefore, under 
the competition of poultry- keepers, rose to a 
proud eminence of about a guinea a quarter 
dearer than the best corn : W-th the happy 
result that Prodgers was rewarded handsomely 
for his devotion ; and certainly poultry will 
never starve while the damage of corn for their 
beneiit is so effectual y encouraged, 

But everybody hadn't a Prodgers to fall back 
on ; and for the general bene tit it has been 
announced that hen rations must be cut down 
to one ounce per hen per day. Do you remember 
the ancient fable of the hen who found a heap 

by GoOgJC 

is to get her ounce to that they must come. 
Though she wont get it then, if the rats are to 
have their part. And they vnA t un T ess t occurs 
to most of us to g^ve up keeping ruts — and 
sparrows — in war-time. Potter is serious J y 
concerned about the rats, lie is wondering if 
he can persuade Prodgers to sell me a dog to 
keep them down, fto doubt he w r ill get sadly 
troubled about sparrows as soon as Prodgers 
has a spa rro wing cat for sale, But there I More 
regulations are coming no doubt ushering in a 
long vista of transactions between Potter and 
Prodgers* -» . . r 

* Original from 





THE fast train to 
came to a. sud- 
den stop at a 
mere wayside station. 
Simultaneously all lights 
were turned out, and the 
guard, walking down the 
platform, was purring : 
" Keep your seats. Yon 
are all to keep your 
scats ! " 

The sudden arrest of 
the train in its rapid 
flight, the equally sud- 
den extinguishing even 
of the feeble glimmer of 
gas ordinarily permitted, 
and this very unusual 
command, "You are all 


Illustrated by 

f. s. s 


"a man in a first-class 'smoker' leaned out* 'are they 

ABOUT, GUARD f" ' ** 
Vol. M*— \Q. 

Digitized by LiOO^k* 

to keep your scats ! " — for one did 
not travel express to alight at this 
particular 4l Nowhere in Any- 
where " of a station — dispatched 
#an electric thrill down the train. 
The card-player paused, ace up- 
lifted, in the act of inflicting 
disaster on an opponent; the 
grave greybeard came out of his 
ha If -doze ; the girl- typist lifted 
her chin from her novel and was 
in a moment a listening, peering 
cat again ; the unfit or exempted 
Knut, with more voice than heart, 
muttered nervously : " What the 
<lev It became a train 

obsessed by one thought : — 
" Zsppsl " 

There is no ceremony of in- 
troduction so potent as danger. 
People, men and women claiming 
one common origin, and there- 
fore, in a sense, brothers and 
sisters, who had been 
gazing stonily at each 
other through the twi- 
light of their respective 
compartments, started 
chatting like old 

" What does it mean 
somewhere in the 
locality ? " 

" They don't stop 
the trains unless 
they're close up." 

" We were held up 
like this for four hours 
last week/' 

" Are you mad, sir? 
Blow that match out I " 
And the speaker, 
jangled nerves in his 
voice, deliberately 
leaned forward and 
blew out the match be- 
fore the inconsiderate 

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puppy of a clerk could convey it to his 
cigarette. , 

" Quite right ! What are you thinking of ! " 
And five pairs of eyes glared at the squashed 

And the guard, coming back, was still purring : 
" Keep your seats, please. You are to keep 
your seats." 

" Or keep under the seats, please," added 
the clerk, recovering himself with Cockney 

A man in a first-class " smoker " leaned out. 

" Are they about, guard ? " 

The official put his hand to his mouth : " As 
near overhead as may be, sir/' he replied 
in a subdued tone. And he passed on, still 

The eight affluent, well-dressed men in the 
" first smoker " sat in silence, maintaining a 
stolid indifference to the thrill that had set 
the " thirds " chattering. The cigar of a stout, 
heavily-coated gentleman glowed a little redder. 
But for this slight acknowledgment of the 
impending danger, the " first smoker " remained 

But presently an officer, sitting in a corner 
on the platform side facing the engine, broke 
the silence. 

" I think," he murmured, " I'll go and inves- 

And, turning the handle of the door, he slipped 
out into the gloom of the platform. 

A young man, he breathed more freely when 
he found himself in the open. To one just 
home after months at the Front, there was a 
galling impotency about sitting cooped up in 
a railway compartment while Zeppelins hovered 
overhead. Besides, he was curious, this being 
his first experience of an airship raid. 

It was, of course, a moonless night, yet clear 
and mild, with occasional patches of cloud 
offering cover to the raiders as they careered 
through the starlit firmament. Only here and 
there a lamp at quarter-cock broke the darkness 
of the little station. The soldier, barking his 
shins against a porter's barrow, swore softly. 
Proceeding then more cautiously, he moved 
across the platform in the direction of what 
looked like a white gate. Beyond, there might 
be a village possessing, at a convenient distance, 
an eminence from which one could obtain a 
good view of the proceedings. He found the 
gate locked and sauntered on, passing from the 
illuminated area, such as it was, to a remote 
stretch which, he surmised, led to a crossing 
by which one gained the opposite side of the 
station, where, from the booking-hall, and 
possibly from the station-master, he might 
be able to glean information as to the enemy's 
manoeuvres. Very imperfectly he could see 
ahead the outlines of a bridge forming a viaduct 
over the line, and it was probably because his 
eyes were cast upwards that he did not discern 
a person approaching him. There was a colli- 
sion. It was nothing to the soldier, hardened 
to the rough-and-tumble of warfare, but to the 
lady of sheltered life, and unused to the hard 
knocks of the camp, he feared it had proved 


otherwise. For he felt instinctively that it 
was a lady. The texture of her clothes, her 
height — her face was almost on a level with 
his own— the quality of the " Oh ! " that 
escaped her — all had their tale for a man whose 
senses had been quickened to a keen edge by 
the thousand incidents of war. But, in any 
case, she was a woman. 

" I beg your pardon," he said, " Really, 
I had no idea " 

" Oh, don't mention it." 

" I hope I didn't hurt you ? " 

" Not in the least." She gave a little laugh 
that, nevprtheiess, as he noted, possessed a 
nervous undercurrent. " And, if you had, I am 
afraid I should have deserved it, as I oughtn't 
to have got out." 

" Nor should I, perhaps. But I was going 
to find out what I could." 

Then, as a silence fell upon them, there came 
through the night air a dull, plugging boom. 
She uttered another involuntary " Oh ! " and 
after a pause asked, with a voice which, in 
the circumstances, she commanded very well, 
" Was that a gun ? " 

" Yes," he said, although he knew it wasn't. 
" They are not very near yet, though. A dozen 
or more miles away, perhaps." 

There was the least tremor in the laugh 
accompanying her retort : "I should call that 
very near." 

But he was not thinking of the sound. She 
was so close to him that he felt her breath upon 
his face. She was a tali girl — an English girl. 
Though a truth-discovering light might reveal 
her to be plain, perhaps appallingly plain, this 
intimate proximity of a tall, nice girl — for she 
spoke nicely — had its interests for him. For 
the moment, then, he had quite forgotten that 
sound, distant, as his professional ear told him, 
a very considerable way from the mute, light- 
less train, their common vehicle, which stood 
in the rpadside station like a small thing of 
the air taking cover from hawk or kestrel. 

" Probably only among somebody's turnips," 
he said, reassuringly, and a little thoughtlessly. 

" Then it was a bomb ? " she asked, quickly. 

" I think so — there is a difference in the sound." 

" You said a gun first. I suppose you didn't 
wish to fr-f right en me." 

" It might still be," he answered. " There 
— that is a gun — several of 'em," he added, as 
a ripple of detonations reached them. 

" Oh, dear ! " she said, frankly alarmed. 
" I hope we sha'n't be the next — turnips." 

It is a way of the English to turn their fears 
into jokes, and it is a good way. 

11 They have not come after turnips," he said, 
" you may be sure. Still, there is nothing like 
taking care of one's skin. How about that 
hefty-looking bridge ? What do you say ? — 
apologizing for the liberty." 

" I'll do what you think best," she said, 

11 Then, if you don't mind taking my arm " 

She did not hesitate, but put her fingers on 
his arm, and they moved down the platform 
to where it sloped to the line. A few yards, 
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carefully negotiated, brought them beneath 
the towering archway. 

" There's generally," he said, feeling the 
brickwork with his disengaged hand, " — yes, 
here it is. Might have been made for us. A 
manhole. Be careful." 

He put both of his hands lightly about her 
and drove her before him. " Snug, isn't it ? 
And private ! " 

" It is peculiarly private ! " she said, " And 
it's very clever of you to have thought of it ! " 

She stood in the manhole, he just outside 
of it. The darkness enwrapped them as with 
a mantle. He did not know whether she was 
pretty or plain, she did not know whether he 
was villain or gentleman — for villains are often 
the better gentlemen in speech and manner. 
So they stood, she in the hole, he just outside 
of it, sharing a common peril. 

" I'm afraid," he said, " I'm taking a frightful 
liberty in dragging you along here, but it struck 
me as the best place." 

He caught a gleam of white teeth. 

" One doesn't think of * liberties ' during an 
air raid. To tell you the truth, I'm awfully 
scared, and you're so cool " 

" Of course you are," he cut in. " It's all 
part of their idea. But it won't shorten the 
war by an hour," he added, grimly. " On the 
contrary, indeed. You know what Kitchener 
said when we were experiencing a great shortage 
of men ? ' Tell them to send their Zeppelins.' " 

" Just like him," she breathed. " That 
man never spoke but he said something I " • 

" Good. An epitaph in an epigram. % Do 
you remember- ?" 

" Listen ! " Her hand shot out and seized 
his sleeve. 

He heard it — a curious hum. As yet it was 
distant. Except, in fact, for her .sharp ears, 
he would not have noticed it. It was not 
louder at one moment than another, like the 
propeller-whine of an aeroplane. It preserved 
an .evqn sound, a deadly, menacing continuity. 
As the sustained hum came nearer, in spite of 
all his battle experience he felt the blood creep 
coldly under his hair. For there was something 
uncanny in this hum descending from the stars ; 
something devilish in this passage of an evil 
engine-of-war over the still countryside. 

Involuntarily she had put her hand on his t arm. 
It reminded him that he was a man, her tempo- 
rary protector. The hum had now developed 
into a roar as the four engines, beating their 
way through the empyrean, brought their ship 
nearer. He felt her fingers twitch. 

" It won't take any notice of little us," he 
said, reassuringly. " Think I'll step out and 
have a squint at it." 

He moved a few yards out of the arch and 
stared upwards in the direction from which the 
sound seemed to proceed. At first he saw 
nothing but stars, with an occasional fleck of 

" There it is," said her voice, at his shoulder. 
" Look at. the Milky Way. D'you see it ? 
Every now and then it seems to put a star 

In his absorption he had not noticed her 
steal out after him. 

" Oh, yes. You've got sharp eyes ! " The 
Zepp looked hardly bigger than a pencil at the 
great height it had attained. " Well, it can't 
see much of us, that's one comfort." 

Motionless and lightless stood the arrested 
train. The little station seemed to bow her 
head in preparation for the impending blow. 
It seemed astonishing that that tiny distant 
thing could make such a noise. Yet there 
was a certain arrogance in the very altitude 
the airship had sought, " The air is mine," 
she seemed to say, " and I will go where 
I will." 

" She's right overhead," ejaculated the man. 
" You'd better go back." 

" It's too fascinating," the girl murmured, 
staring upwards. 

" This," said the man, abruptly, almost 
savagely, " is how people are killed I Come 
under the bridge — you'd better. It's bang 

They stole through the dark to the manhole. 

" Thousands of people are in the open watching 
her," he muttered. " All asking for trouble. 
Get right in," he urged her. 

" Hush ! " she said, and then laughed ner- 
vously at the absurdity of the word. But for 
the moment one almost felt that the Thing 
could hear you. 

Her French-heeled shoe knocked against 
something. She bent down. 

" How thoughtful of somebody ! A nice 
pile of bricks to sit on." 

" You may be glad of them soon." 

They left off speaking to listen. The monster 
was roaring over them. For some minutes 
there was no diminution in the sound, then it 
grew fainter. 

" Given us a miss," he said, in a relieved 
tone, " though I shouldn't wonder if she's 
spotted the line by the signal lights." 

" Do you think they'll let the train go on 
now ? I'm cold." She shivered. " Cold and 

"I'll just wander along and find out," he 
said. " I don't think it's at all likely we shall 
go on yet, though." 

As he passed out from under the bridge she 
sank down on the little heap of bricks. She 
was trembling. Her life was such a smooth 
affair, and this was such an untoward occur- 
rence. Yet, though she was trembling, now 
that the Zepp had passed she experienced a 
sensation of enjoyabieness. And it was all — when 
you came to think of it — so extremely improper, 
this " chumming up " with a man she couldn't 
even see. She felt she ought to go back to her 
seat in the train, yet she only laughed softly 
as she cuddled her skirts about her and sat, 
obediently awaiting his return, with her elbows 
on her knees and her chin in her palms. What- 
ever he was, he had a nice voice and a curious 
little " ordering " way that she liked. 

After what seemed a desperately long time 
she heaid him approaching. 

" Not an earthly yet." he said, cheerfully. 

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■_-l I '_| 1 1 I u I I I ■_» 







" The guard won't hear of it." She felt rather 
than saw him standing in front of her. M I got 
my coat- You'd better have it. Quite easy to 
get a chill hanging about like this/' 

" But won't you want it ? Pl 

M I'm all right, thanks." 

" It J s awfully good of you/* 

" Not at all/ 1 

She stood up, and with some fumbling the 
overcoat was adjusted about her shoulders. 

" It's splendidly warm," she said, " You 
soldiers do look alter yourselves E " 

And she nestled into the manhole again. 

" That's the outer woman." said he- " After 
politely addressing what I took to be the station- 
master, I found it to be an automatic machine, 
and here's some chocolate." 

She laughed merrily. " You are thoughfulness 
itself ! '* 

Breaking into one of the packets, she nibbled 
the spidery wafer of chocolate that is all these 
mechanical thieves of shopkeepers give you for 
your penny* 

" Won't you smoke ? " she asked. 

" i was just going to beg your permission " 

he was saying, when out of the black distance 
a hoarse tone spoke : — 

*' Put that match out there — she's coming 
back I " 

Coming back I The toothsome morsel lost its 

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savour, and the girl sat up rigidly, her ears alert 
for that ominous humming. 

And in the motionless train two hundred 
apprehensive souls were likewise painfully en- 
gaged. They sat there, with nothing but a 
train's fragile roof over them, listening; And 
borne on the light breeze came the devil engine- 
beat again. 

" Do you think— she thinks — we're some* 
body ? " the girl asked. 

" She's nosing about for something — that's 
clear/' he answered, 

The giant top hummed nearer and nearer. Ah, 
yes I What good to deny that it frightened 
these train- fa re rs f peaceful non-combatants ? 
But it is one thing to be frightened, another 
to be frightened out of a purpose you have 
set and fixed and un frighten able by any fright- 

H Perhaps she found the lights a little trying," 
he was saying, when a muffled roar smote the 
air, and the ground trembled. Twice and thrice 
came the thunderous reverberations of bombs 
meeting the earth. And now a new voice joined 
in, as a battery, its proximity entirely unsuspected 
by the travellers, set up a lively cannonade. 
Swish through the still air rushed its shells, to 
break against the stars. Bang, boom ! The 
game little guns were letting off the venom they 
had contained with patience for many weary 

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nights. As for the airship, she made madly for 
a friendly cloud, and, having peered round it 
this way and then that, and seeing many long 
fingers of light reaching for her, she dodged to 
another cloud, and thence got away like a hare 
flying for, cover. 


The guard was again purring down the train. 

" Keep your seats, please. You are all to 
keep your seats." 

But the penned-up passengers had had enough 
of this sardine-like existence, and they streamed 
out on to the platform, deprecating officials 

" We seem to bm here for some time," said 
the soldier. " The lioness is not generally far 
away from the lion, and that chap may have a 

" But why can't the train go on ? A train 
slipping along the line can hardly be noticeable 
at that great height." 

" If this train goes on," he answered, " there's 
no reason why^ others shouldn't, and the con- 
stant movement below is bound to be noticed 
by the Zepp people. Well, a train leads, in 
time, to a big town, and they have only to follow 
to find something worth chucking their bombs 

" Then the trams ought to stop, too." 

" Of course. It's .simply inviting murder to 
run trams during an air raid. The flashes from « 
those overhead cables can be seen miles up. 
Why, the airmen tell us that from two miles 
up they can see the light of a match — somebody 
lighting his cigarette — whereas they can't see 
coloured railway lights at all." 

A silence- fell upon them. He moved about 
restlessly under the arch. There # was no sign 
of the train going on. From the station came a 
continual slither of promenading feet. 

" Yes. we're in for a good spell of this," be 
said. " Sure you wouldn't like to go back to " 
your seat ? " 

" I can breathe here," she answered. " Every 
day I'm poisoned for two hours or more, and 
it's a relief to be in the fresh air." She rose. 
" But I dare say you would." 

" Not a bit of it. I like the inside of a railway 
compartment as little as you do." He had 
halted near her. " So you go up and down 
every day — you're a business woman ? " 

" Yes ; I type. I help my brother — a 

" Rather interesting." 

" Well, one feels one is helping one's own all 
the time. Better than being servant to a 

He strolled up the line towards the train. 
It seemed to be a fitting part of an abnormal 
evening, this talking to a woman who was an 
entire stranger to him, whom he had not even 
seen, though he knew by her movements that 
she was young ; by her speech, that hers was 
a self-contained, collected personality ; by his 
touch, "that she was well-fashioned. In fact, 
accustomed to a life of alarms which had 
sharpened his wits to a razor-edge, he had 

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learned much more about this woman in this 
short time than a civilian would have done. 
Speaking personally, he felt that he wa& spending 
his air raid under exceptionally pleasant circum- 
stances, for he had a companion who was really 
companionable. If she had been silly he would 
have bundled her back into the train long since. 
If she had tried to — well — flirt, with death 
hovering overhead, he would have been disgusted. 
And yet she had not assumed, as many girls 
did in these times, the " pal " towards him 
because he was a soldier — and being a soldier 
(as many women appeared to imagine) the 
especial and rightful prey of the female. 

After a time he strolled b^ck. 

" You've been on your feet ever since you 
got out of the train," she said. " Come and 
sit down." 
N " Is there room ? " 

. She laughed. " Not much. But I can ' make ' 

He was a pretty big fellow, and he grinned 
broadly in the shielding dark as he took his 
seat on the bricks. Women are great contrivers, 
but the way she had managed, by touch only, 
to set out the bricks so as to form a bench for 
two filled him with admiration. 

*' You are quite easy to handle," she said, 
and he knew she was dimpling. 

" So much depends," he answered, " on 
how one is handled." 

To ear, touch, and senses she was charming. 
He was wondering what a light would reveal. 

" Tell me a tale," she said, when they had 
settled themselves. " We've got to pass the 
time somehow, and you soldiers always have 
something to talk about." 

" You tell me one," he retorted. " I'm 
' resting,' you know." 

" I'll try and think of one. That's fair." 

" Let's see — war horrors. Women generally 
find them fascinating." 

" / don't. I've heard and read enough to 
last me a lifetime." 

" Something else, then. Ah ! here's some- 
thing. My tale is called, dear reader, ' The 
Man Who Didn't Want Leave.' " 

" That sounds well." 

" Yes, the only man I know who doesn't 
want leave. The only man in the British Army." 

" Got a wife," she jeered. 

" Nothing so definite and final." 

" I'm all attention." 

" Well," he said, " a man I know had just 
become engaged to a girl when the war broke 
out. He gave up a good berth — seven hundred 
a year or so — and enlisted. He was one of the 
first hundred thousand. After the usual training 
he went to the Front, and spent some months 
ding-donging about in the trenches* Then, 
in a bit of a push, most of the officers in. his 
battalion were killed or wounded, and he was 
offered a commission. He accepted it, but 
first he had to come back and go through another 
course of training, and during that time he saw 
a good deal more of the girl* than during his 
previous training, and the conclusion he came 
to was that she had transferred her affections 

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to another man, a civilian, whom he did not 
like— as a man. He felt that the fellow had 
deliberately taken advantage of his absence 
in the trenches to cut him out — and had suc- 

" What made him think that ? " 

" The girl's manner." 

" Perhaps he wasn't very ardent, and she 
was using the civilian to pique him. Girls do." 

" Possibly. Well, having gone through his 
second training, back he went to the Front 
again. He's been there some time now, and 
though he could have leave if he wanted it, 
he won't have it. He doesn't want to meet 
her again. He thinks he's cut out. That's 
all — halloa ! The guns again ! " 

From a distance came a series of rapid detona- 

" This is tiresome," he said. " They're still 
1 about. Well, tell me your tale. You promised 
to cap mine." 

" It oughtn't to be very difficult to do that/' 
she said. " It is lucky you're a soldier and 
not a novelist." 

" You think so, do you ? May I remind you 
that you proposed that I should turn novelist ? 
I did the best I could." 

" You managed to invent a very poor sort 
of hero," she rejoined, tartly. " A man languish- 
ing in the trenches because he is afraid to come 
home abd find he has been cut out ! He ought 
to make surel I think I can do better than 

" Try." 

She seemed to be considering her story. 
" My title, dear listener " 

" That," he interjected, " is an improvement, 
to start with." 

She was not flirting, no ! He would, of course, 
have been disgusted with a girl who tried 
to flirt in these circumstances. Yet there' 
was a certain caress in this address of hers, 
and the " dear listener's " pulse was agreeably 
stirred. Her voice contained subtle" cadences, 
and she could convey as much by her tone as 
by her words. In spite of the darkness — or 
because of it ? — he was making her acquaint- 
ance very rapidly. He wondered if she had a 
temper. A touch of temper in a woman, to 
his thinking, gave her a finish. 

" My title," she recommenced, " is, ' She 
Kept the Home Fires Burning.' " **" 

" Cribbed I " 

" Will you let me go on ! " she exclaimed, 
stamping her foot. (So she had a temper 1) 
" Or," she added, ' Tried to Keep Them.' " 

" Well, if that is not just like a woman ! " 
he exclaimed, throwing back his head with 
a laugh. Forgetting the wall behind, the 
back of his head received a hard rap. She 
tittered unfeelingly. • He, rubbing his head, 

" Well, who wouldn't have laughed ? " he 
demanded, crossly. " To call a story, ' She 
Kept the Home Fires Burning, or Tried to Keep 
Them/ is as bad as 'Lady Audley's Secret, 
or What She Thought Was a Secret.' Such a 
title would have doomed the book." 

She sat up very straight. " If you please," 
she asked, " am I to tell my story ? " 

" Take your seats, please I " sounded the 
voice of the guard in the distance. 

" There," she said, " it's too late ! " 

" Bosh ! The old cl^ap only wants to herd 
us in again, so as to be ready to start when he 
receives the order. We may be here another 
four or five hours." 

" Very well," she said. " But I must cut 
my tale short. You have to thank your inter- 
ruptions for that." 

" Go on." 

"You will say, dear listener, that my tale 
is a little like yours. The coincidence granted, 
I can assure you that it dees not concern the 
same people. Well, a certain girl I know has 
been paid a good deal of attention by a certain 
man. He is a civilian, young and nice-looking, 
and perhaps the girl would Jiave taken a ' fancy * 
to him, as they say, had she not known that 
he was, so to speak, dividing his time between 
herself and another girl whose sweetheart was 
in the trenches." 
• " The villain," he muttered. 

" No interruptions ! Still, the ' civvy ' rather 
likes the girl who has no sweetheart, and she 
— I wonder if you'll believe in the purity of 
her motives ? " 

" Now you're interrupting yourself ! " 

" A merited rebuke, dear listener. Well, she 
makes herself very nice to him because she's 
sorry for the sweetheart in the trenches who 
might otherwise be ' cut out.' And so, you 
see, she is trying to keep the home fires burning, 
and up to the present she has succeeded fairly 
well in doing so. She has*no gift for nursing, 
and she is sure munition work would knock her 
up in a week, and she couldn't conduct a bus 
for a day, so that is how she is ' doing her bit.' 
Do you think she is doing it ? " 

" Do I think she is ! " he exclaimed, enthusi- 
astically. " Why " 

When of a sudden a roar of cheering burst 
from the people assembled on the platform. The 
two under the archway stumbled out into the 
open and were immediately transfixed with 
wonder and awe. For, far away towards the 
east, the sky was lit up as if by a brilliant sunset. 
In the midst of this showed a fiery shape. 

" The Zeppelin ! " she breathed. " She's on 
fire ! Oh, splendid — splendid ! " 

With such ejaculations they watched the 
monster airship drop and disappear. But while 
the sky was still all alTght, the girl, glancing at 
the man, perceived, in the rays shed oy this 
leviathan lamp, that he was looking at her. 
And he was looking at her in such a manner that 
she blushed red as the distant sky. At the same 
time she became aware that he had his arm 
abou£ her. In stumbling out she had nearly 
fallen, and he had held her up. In the darkness 
his protecting arm was welcome, and even now 
she raised no protest. For this was a night of 
abnormal happenings, when the clock of con- 
vention had ceased to mark the time in its usual 
concise and measured way. 

When the train at length resumed its journey 






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they found seats where they could, as did every- 
body else, and when they pulled up at their 
destination she could not but accept his escort 
through the dark streets to her home, 

J * You know," he said, a$ they walked along, 
" I shall pass on your tip to my pal. I shall 
tell him to be a man and give bursting shells a 
rest for a bit in order to come home and find 
out how he stands with his girl." 

" You are quite sure, then," she asked, wickedly, 
through the darkness, " he is siitl at the Front ? " 

He laughed so heartily that a special constable 
glanced severely at them. You must not laugh 
heartily on raid nights. 

" Quite sure. My tortured heart was not 
telling you its sad history. But if it comes to 
that, may I hazard a conjecture that 1 have 
the honour of escorting a heroine — Creeper- up 
of home tires ? " 

His own answer had been frank enough. He 
had good -humou redly set himself to ^ftnd out 
how the land lay for a disconsolate pal in the 
trenches, and admitted as much. But from her 
he quite expected a baming answer — to be left 
wondering whether she had just opened the 
book of some other woman's life and read him 
a page of it, or was reading him a pase from her 
own. He was not a lady's man, yet he knew 
enough of the sex to be aware that a girl who 
seems as transparent as a brook in May- time 
can throw out concealing clouds as cunningly 
as a Zeppelin itself, There was a palpable 
hiatus between his question and her reply. 
The most sanguine person living would not 
have expected her to be so utterly devoid of 
the feminine instinct for evasion as to give him 
a direct answer, but with the directness she 
allowed herself *he would have won, anywhere, 
first prize for straight forwardness as interpreted 
by love!/ woman. 

11 I am/* she said, " I admit, one of*the girls 
in the story." 

He sighed. " Eve," said he, "dating the 
temporary absence of Adam, one day ( filled in 
time talking to the Serpent, and it is really 
painful to me to think that h during the enforced 
absence of your fianci in the trenches, you should 
have accepted the attentions of a mere civilian." 

He spoke sternly and sadly* 

"Oh, how dare you imagine such a thing 1" 
she- exclaimed. 

" Then you are the girl who is ' fending off , 
the civilian i Come, be honest ! Say ' Yes 
or ' No/ " 

" You have dragged it out of me/' she pro- 
tested. " 1 didn't mean to tell you. But now 
you know so much, I'll tell you more. I wanted 
to find out how you viewed such a situation* 
By some people I am considered an outrageous 

"They are sure to be people who don't 
count," he replied, comfortingly. " Ignore them. 
In such a good cause— guarding the interests of 
one of your country's defenders — you are justified 
In continuing to let this odious civilian press 
your hand and gaze into your " 

" Oh ! " she exclaimed again, catching her 
breath. ' F A& if I should ever have let it go as 
far as thai I Besides — I forgot to tell you the 
end — these Zepps are a bother ! The soldier- 
sweetheart is coming home, and the civilian 
seems to have shrunk two inches already." 

Braving the Special, once again he laughed. 
These soldiers are devil-may-care fellows, 

" True to all traditions of your sex," he said, 
ir you put all your real information into the 
postscript. But I foresee danger. The civilian, 
now free to devote all his time to little ' Home 
Fires/ looms, to my mind, a positive danger. 
He has received encouragement. The pro- 
tectress of the absent warrior's interests may now 
herself need protection/* 

She paused by a gate. " This is my house M 
fell, with the faintest of sighs, from her lips. 
"I am so much obliged to you for seeing me 
safely here/' 

He was gathering up his courage* He wanted 
to see her again, and had only just conceived a 
manner of leading up to it. For he was not 
versed in these arts. The civilian, no doubt, 
could have taken a strong and glib lead of him 
in this respect. 

" Ethel/' sounded a motherly voice from the 
doorway, " is that you, dear ? " 

She held out her hand, 

" My leave is short/' he said, desperately. 
"May I meet your train to-morrow ? " 

" Suppose " — she had time to be tantalizing— 
*' it's held up again ? " 

"To be on the safe side, I'll meet you at the 
London end. May I ? " 

Their hands met. Then she ran in. 



not forget that The Strand Magazine may now be sent post free to British 
soldiers and sailors at home and abroad. All you need do is to hand your copies, 
without wrapper or address, over the counter at any post-office in the United Kingdom, 
and they will be sent by the authorities wherever they will be most welcome* 


Original from 



Illustrated ty A, Garrett. 


ORD HERXGILL read out the 
demand made by the Editor 
of The Pig-keepers' Friend on 
the ingenuity of the members 
of the Problem Club, Members 
were required to produce evi- 
dence, that could be given ill 
good faith, that at a certain 
hour, day or night, they had been in two places 
at once, the two places not being less than one 
hundred miles apart. 

Lord Hcrngill said that he felt anxious and 



depressed. His manner and appearance, it may 
be added, hardly bore out the statement. He 
assigned his depression to two reasons, Firstly, 
other chairmen had had the simple task of 
adjudicating on a point of fact- He— a new 
me ruber , a novice, a mere babe, as you might 
say — was required to undertake far more delicate 
:uk! dim cult work and to base his decision on 
an estimate of evidence, Secondly, the secretary 
for the evening was Mr, Wilderslcy« On the 
last occasion that Wilde rsley had acted as 
secretary he had adorned the minute-book with 


drawings of the chairman which were undoubtr 
edly amusing and possessed of artistic merit, 
but at the same time were calculated to bring 
that chairman into ridicule and contempt. 

" So you see, gentlemen/' Lord Hefiigill 
continued, M that this is nervous work for me. 
However, I will make the plunge. Towards 
the end of dinner a telegram was handed to 
Mr, Feldane, over which I noticed him to be 
chuckling. May I inquire if it had any bearing 
on the problem before us ? " 

"Well, it had," Jimmy admitted, " Brainy work 

to have guessed it. 
But I'm not on in 
this act— I'm rest- 
ing, The wire really 
concerns Hessel- 
ti ne's claim." 

" You two gene- 
rally hunt in 
couples. Perhaps 
Mr, Hesseltine will 
let you put his case 
for him." 

" Anything that 
pleases you and 
saves me trouble," 
said Hesseltine, 

"Well," said 
Jimmy, " we can 
see for ourselves 
that Hesseltine is 
here to - night, I 
don't want to dwell 
on his misfortunes, 
but he looks much 
as usual. Talks in 
the same silly way 
too. But that tele- 
gram is his evidence 
that he is really in 
Liverpool, It is 
signed \vith his 
name and was handed in at a Liverpool office, 
I'll read it, ' So sorry to be unable to be with 
you to-night d but have premised to remain here 
to act as judge at local baby -show/ Well, it isn't 
for me to say anything, though I could." 

" The evidence that Mr. Hesseltine is here/' 
said the chairman, " is good, The evidence 
that he is in Liverpool is less good. A telegram 
is not necessarily dispatched by the man whose 
name is signed to it. Further, it seems to 
me improbable that a young bachelor would 
have been selected for the high office which 
Original from 




Mr. Hesseltine claims to have fulfilled. I think 
we shall do better than that. I will ask Mr. 
Pusely-Smythe how far he has succeeded in 
being in two places at once." 

" It is easier to be in one place at twice," said 
Pusely-Smythe. " But I have done what I 
could, considering how unversed I am in the 
arts of deception." The applause which greeted 
this statement was possibly of an ironical 
character. " On the morning of Tuesday last," 
Pusely-Smythe continued, " I was at the Rectory, 
Meldon Bois, where I had been spending the 
week-end. The village of Meldon Bois is one 
hundred and eight miles from London. It had 
been my intention to leave Meldon Bois by the 
10.5 a.m. for London. I had been pressed to 
remain for one more night, as there was to be a 
performance of a pastoral play in the grounds 
of the Rectory on Tuesday afternoon. I will 
not conceal it from you, sir, that the said pastoral 
play constituted the principal reason for my 

" You have grasped these facts ? Very good. 
Now, on the morning of Tuesday, by the first 
post, I received a letter from my one and only 
aunt, who resides in London, to say that as I 
was coming up to town that morning she hoped 
I would lunch with her in Grosvenor Street and 
accompany her afterwards to hear a lecture on 
'The Future of Eugenics.' I had been reluctant 
to witness the performance in the Rectory 
grounds, and I contemplated the idea of listen- 
ing to this lecture with horror and loathing. 
That was the situation. I had to miss two birds 
with one stone. 

11 My first step was to telegraph to my one 
and only aunt as follows : ' Regret detained 
here. Am writing.' On the following morning 
she received a letter from me which I am able to 
produce in its envelope. The letter is in my 
own handwriting on paper stamped with the 
Rectory address. The letter is dated Tuesday 
evening, and the post-mark on the envelope 
shows that it was posted at Meldon Bois on that 
day. Now that letter not only states that I 
had remained so as not to miss the pastoral 
*amateurs, but also makes several statements as 
to their performance, every one of which can be 
proved to be absolutely accurate. These state- 
ments are that Miss Sykes looked charming in 
some pale lilac-coloured contraption, that the 
comedian over-acted, that the weather was not 
entirely favourable, that some of the players 
seemed to find a difficulty in making themselves 
audible, that quite a nice sum was realized for 
the Cottage Hospital, and that the Rector in 
proposing a vote of thanks to the players said 
that where all were so good it would be invidious 
to differentiate. I have no doubt that on the 
strength of that letter and the details it contains, 
my aunt would give evidence in good faith that 
to her knowledge I must have been at Meldon 
Bois on Tuesday afternoon. Notwithstanding 
this, I left Meldon Bois on Tuesday morning, 
and on Tuesday afternoon I was playing bridge 
at my club in London, as various members of 
the club who met me there would attest." 

** On the face of it," said the chairman, " it 

by {j 



looks like rather a good case. I presume that 
you wrote the letter to your aunt before leaving 
in the morning, and gave it to a servant with 
instructions to post it after the performance." 

" Precisely so." 

" But how did you manage to give an accurate 
account of a performance at which you were 
really not present ? " 

" Well, Miss Sykes was staying at the Rectory 
and had told me what dress she would wear. 
The rest was intelligent anticipation. The glass 
was low, and, besides, the weather is always 
unfavourable for pastoral plays, and some of 
the players always fail to make their voices carry 
in the open. Given village amateurs, over- 
acting by the comedian is as certain as death. 
To put the receipts as a nice sum was quite safe. 
It was riskier to quote the Rector's actual words, 
but he's a kindly and tactful man with a circum- 
scribed mind, so I thought I might chance it, 
and it came off." 

The next few members on whom the chairman 
called produced nothing of interest. Dr. Alden 
had tried ah idea of his own, and expressed the 
hope that the chairman would think better of it 
than he did himself. 

Early one morning he had entered a tobac- 
conist's shop where he was not known anl 
investigated the man's stock of cigars. He 
found it difficult to make up his mind as to which 
of three different brands would suit him best. 
He took away with him a specimen of each, and 
said that he would try them after luncheon and 
let the tobacconist know. At three that after- 
noon Dr. Alden's man called at the tobacconist's 
with a note from the doctor saying that the trial 
had been made and naming the brand selected. 
Five hundred of this brand were ordered, and a 
cheque for the exact sum was enclosed in pay- 
ment. The tobacconist was to deliver the goods 
to the bearer of the note, as the doctor was 
leaving for the country at four and wished to 
take some of the cigars with him. This was 
done, and probably the tobacconist would have 
been willing to swear in consequence that 
Dr. Alden was in London until four that day. 
As a matter of fact the doctor had left for the 
North by express shortly after ten that morning. 

" Yes," said the chairman, " you convinced 
that tobacconist that you were in Ixmdon when 
you were not, just as Pusely-Smythe convinced 
his aunt that he was not in London when he was. 
In each case it is the evidence of one person only. 
Have you done any better, Mr. Wildersley ? " 

" Better ? " said Wildersley, cheerfully. " I 
should rather think I have. Cast your chair- 
maniacal eye over this sketch-book. It is filled 
with pencil drawings made from time to time, if 
not oftener, by the eminent Wildersley. The last 
few pages were made at the political meeting at 
Glasgow last week. They are dated in my own 
hand. There are notes as to the colour also in 
my hand. They are in my sketch-book. If 
they are not proof positive that I was at that 
meeting, then what are they ? All the same I 
was in London while that meeting was being 
held, and can produce countless witnesses who 
saw me and spoke to me." 

Original from 



The chairman looked carefully at the drawings. 
" Not done from photographs, I suppose ? " 

" No, m'lord," said Wildersley. " All genuine 
hand-work and done on the spot." 

Lord Herngill compared them with previous 
drawings in the book. "'These look to me," he 
said, " as if they were done by somebody who 
was trying to imitate your technique but had 
not quite got it." 

" Yes." said Wildersley, " that finishes us. 
You have it. The other artist member and I 
went into collaboration in this enterprise. Austin 
went to Glasgow, and made the sketches in the 
book with what he was pleased to call an imita- 
tion of the worst of the Wildersleian mannerisms. 
I remained in London giving my famous imper- 
sonation of myself. I added the date and 
manuscript notes afterwards. Still, if this book 
fell into the hands of somebody who had not the 
full use of his eyes — and very few people have — 
he might use it as evidence in good faith that I 
was at Glasgow at that date." 

" Undoubtedly. I shall not forget your claim. 
Meanwhile, is there any other ? " 

" Yes," said Sir Charles Bunford, placidly. 
" I think my claim to have established an alibi 
is stronger than any you have heard yet. Bir- 
mingham is more than a hundred miles from 
London. A certain butler in Birmingham 
would swear that he saw me and spoke to me on 
a certain afternoon. A photographer in Bir- 
mingham would swear that he photographed 
me on that same afternoon, and would be able 
to produce the negative. Yet during the whole 
of that afternoon I was in London, as the evi- 
dence of ma'ny of my friends would show." 

" And how was this miracle accomplished ? " 

" Til tell you the story as briefly as I can. I 
went to stay for a fortnight with an old friend of 
mine, a bachelor named Fraser, who has a house 
outside Birmingham. He is a keen ornitho- 
logist. He employs in the preparation of speci- 
mens and so on a curious character called 
Mitten. Fraser only has Mitten's spare time. 
Mitten's regular work is with a Birmingham 
photographer, for whom he does developing and 
also has charge of the stock of negatives. Fraser 
is quite unlike me in the face, except that we 
both have the same deficiency of colour in the 
hair, but we are of about the same height and 
build. There is also a slight similarity in our 
voices. That was the rough material that I 
had at my disposal, and no doubt you can guess 
how I got my results from it." 

" You'd better continue," said the chairman. 

" On the day before I left I pointed out to 
•Fraser that a similarity in mass often prevented 
a dissimilarity in detail from being noticed, and 
that the attitude of expectant attention is a 
frequent source of error. Fraser asked me, as I 
had thought he would, what I meant and what I 
was getting at. I replied that by taking advan- 
tage of the two facts I had mentioned he could 
probably get himself mistaken for me. He said 
that nobody would make the mistake. I said that 
our friend Hammond's butler would make it the 
next afternoon, if he cared to try the experiment. 

" ' I'd like to try it, but it's impossible. That 

Digitized by LiOOQ It 

butler has known me for the last two years, and 
he has only seen you four or five times in the 
afternoon. How could he be taken in ? ' 

"'He has always seen you 'in dark and 
chastened clothing, such as it is your custom to 
wear. He has always seen me with a grey 
bowler, a light suit, white spats, and a distinctive 
necktie. He expects to see me to-morrow after- 
noon, because I borrowed an umbrella there to- 
day, and said I would bring it back then. All 
you have to do is to wear my cldthes, and hand 
in that umbrella. He will expect to see me. 
He will actually see my clothes on a man of 
about my figure. The hall at the Hammonds' 
house is rather dark, and you will have the sun 
behind you. It's quite certain the man will be 

" It was tried and happened as I had foretold. 
The butler addressed Fraser as Sir Charles." 

" But how about the photograph ? " 

" That was done by means of a bet. Old 
Mitten is a great believer in system, and has his 
own infallible method for cataloguing photo- 
graphic negatives so that a mistake is impossible. 
I chaffed him about it and told him that I 
would cause him to enter two lots of negatives 
wrongly. I offered to bet a sovereign on it and 
he accepted with avidity. I then settled with 
Fraser what we would do. Fraser booked an 
appointment with the photographer for the 
morning that I left for London, and I booked 
another for myself in the afternoon, the appoint- 
ments being made by post. I kept. Fraser's 
appointment just before I left for the station, 
and Fraser kept mine in the afternoon after he 
had finished with Hammond's butler. Mitten 
found out what had been done, of course, cata- 
logued the negatives correctly, and has collected 
his sovereign. But I understand that he has 
not informed his employer, on the ground that 
the employer dislikes larks. The entries in the 
appointment book remain as they were. So 
that it is on record that I was photographed in 
the afternoon, though the photographic nega- 
tives entered under my name are really those 
taken from me in the morning." 

" This," said the chairman, " is the most 
elaborate attempt we have had. Nobody else 
claims to have been seen in two places at the 
same time. I do not say that the evidence is 
perfect, but then the evidence of an alibi must 
always have a hole in it somewhere. Does any- 
body claim to have beaten it ? Nobody ? 
Then I have no hesitation in deciding in Sir 
Charles's favour, and I congratulate him on the 
distinction— which, so far, has been held by 
Mr. Pusely-Smythe alone— of winning the prize 
on two successive occasions." 

The next problem was now read out. It was 
entitled " The Threepenny Problem," and ran 
as follows : " It is required to offer a half-crown 
for a threepenny bus-fare, and to receive the 
change wholly in threepenny-bits. No gift or 
promise of a gift may be made to the conductor 
to induce him to give the change in this form." 

" That's the easiest we've ever had," grumbled 
Major Byles. " So of course it's my turn to be 
in the chair, ?jid I can't compete." 



\Wt shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as are accepted.] 



anxious to prac- 
tise his hobby in 
?phe of present 
restrictions, has 
been investigat- 
ing the photo- 
graphic possi- 
bilities of the 
coal -box. This 
precipitous cliff 
surmounted by 
tin okl castle is 
nothing more 
than a block of 
coal on which 
has been con- 
structed a tiny 
castle in plasti- 
cine. Some idea 
of the actual 
size of the 
which, inci- 
dentally, was 
indoor s— may 
be gallic red from 
the fact that the 
towers of the castle are but i>n inch and a half high I — 
Copyright photograph by P. W. Harris, supplied by 
Giles's Photo Agency* 


CONSIDERING its power, tin* telescope is, I 
think, remarkable for its cheapness. It was 
constructed for rs. 4d. The ob- 
ject-glass is a lens of six-foot 
focus and an inch and a half in 
diameter, which cost is. The 
cardboard from which the tube 
was made cost <\&* For the eye- 
piece I usually use either one nr 
two lenses of three and a half 
inches focal length out ol a toy 
magk -lantern. Thus with one of 
these I c uses a magnification of 
about twenty diameters is ob- 
tained f and with two* one of about 
forty, By using a lens of shorter 
focal length the power may be 
carried as far as about seventy 
diameters. These powers are 
sufficient to show the broad de- 
tails of sun-spots and lunar 
craters ; also Jupiter's moons, 
Saturn's rings, and Venus as a 
crescent may be seen besides 

inizea by v.* 

star clusters, double 
stars, etc. There 
is practically no 
colour at all in the 
linage. The mount- 
ing shown is of the 
equatoriid type" and 
works quite well. 
It was constructed 
from an old box, 
an old tin, and an 
old piece of broom- 
stick. — Mr. L* J, 
Freeman* S3, Mount 
Pleasant Road, 




A CLOCK that 
never requires 
winding has been in- 
vented by 'Hi* Die- 
den, of KarlsUmd, 
in Sweden, But 
although the clock 
does not require 
any winding, it is 
only a seeming — 
not a true — solu- 
tion of the problem 
ol perpetual motion, 
as it depends upon 
the variation of the 
weather — the baro- 
metrical pressure of 
the air ■ — to keep 
^oing, Moreover, it 
is quite possible it 
might not work us 
well in a country 
where weather con- 
ditions are more 


constant than in the northern and 
middle European latitudes. Hie 
principle upon which it works 
en 11 be seen below the clock 
face. The seven flat, round 
boxes you see there are made 
of very thin metal — new sil- 
ver one -seventh of a milli- 
metre in thickness, and filled 
with air of average tempera- 
ture. Whenever the outside 
air-pressure changes the top 
plates move up and down, much 
a^ happens in the case of the 
bammeter: and in the same 
way that the hand of the baro- 
meter is moved so here a cog- 
wheel moves, and by means 
of a chain pulls up or winds 
the clock— Mr, W. T. L + Kiehl, 
He Kieft Kamp N Hierdem nr* 
Harder wjjk, Holland, 



The Well- Groomed 

is more than satisfied with her 
appearance when she is wearing 
Wood - Milne Rubber Heels. 
She knows they keep her 
foot-wear smart, and make 
walking a pleasure. 



Made of sound resilient rubber - they 
give extra comfort and extra economy. 
Made in all shapes and sizes. Sold 
by all Bootmakers. See the name 
Wood- Milne Heels on every pair. 




Packed ia varying degrees of strength to on it every claea of smoker. 

Players Gold Leaf Navy Cat 
Players Medium Navy Cat 
Player's Tawny Navy Cot - 

Per os. 


■\ rer oi 


Also Players Navy Cot de Laxe (a development of Players Navy Cot) 
packed in S-oz. end 4-oz. Airtight Tine at 2/1 and 4/2 respectively. 


Have a world-wide reputation. They are made from fine quality 
Virginia Tobaceo and aold in two strengths— Mild and Medium. 

MILD (Gold Leaf) MEDIUM 

100 for 5/4 50 for 2/8 100 for 4/3 50 for 2/2* 


These Cigarettes (and Tobacco*) are else es»plle4 at DUTY PBEB SATES for the 
purpose eff grstsitoas dlstrlhstlon te wended Soldiers and Sellers In Hospital. 

IriS^E? - ^ JOHN PLAYER & SONS. Nottingham. 


Breath of the Imperial Tobacoo Ca. (of Great Britain and 



Contents for September* 1918*. 

Tht rights of translation and reproduction in the contents of this number are strictly reserved. 









THE PROBLEM CLUB. X— The Threepenny Problem 



ON RECORD ... .- - 


E. Temple Thurston ... 

henri de forge 


l j. beeston 

david devant 

Lynn Doyle 

By some of our most Famous novelists 

arthur stringer 

barry pain 


f. britten austin 

Wilson Macnair 

henry e. dudeney 



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CAN WE D0? J,! 
(See page 159.) 

Original from 

by Google 





Illustrated hy W. R. S. Stott. 

HE burning of the s.s. Malaga 
at sea off Cape Palmas, on 
March 23rd, 1909, is an event 
anyone can read of who chooses 
to take the trouble to look up 
the files of the newspapers of 
that date. 

Of the story which is to be 
told here of the adventures of David Mortlake 
and John Hawkesley — hereinafter to be called 
David and Jonathan, as they were in their 
friendship at school — there is no record other 
than in this manuscript. 

Friends all their life — at the time of the 
burning of the Malaga they were respectively 
thirty-six and thirty-seven years of age — they 
kept together through all the drama and tragedy 
of that catastrophe, and after two days on a 
ship's raft found themselves washed up, as 
Jonathan declared, somewhere along the Ivory 
Coast, on a deserted beach with a tropical 
forest and swamp before them and a mile of 
rolling surf to the open sea behind. 

In comparison of their two characters, it is 
sufficient to describe what they had made of 
their lives since leaving school. David had 
gone up to the 'Varsity, and, at the age of twenty- 
three, having easily attained his B.A. and being 
left an income by the unexpected generosity of 
a distant relative, had taken rooms in the Albany 
and drifted into the easy life of a man about 
town. Many artistic capacities he showed, 
but pursued none with ambition. Yet somehow 
or other, he managed to keep his touch with the 
progression of Life, more by the quality of his 
advanced mentality than from any desire to 
succeed or achieve recognition. 

Vol. UL— it. I Copyright, 1918, 

The career, as a mining engineer, which 
Jonathan had undertaken carried . him into far 
countries, prospecting for his company. The 
work suited his temperament. He had a strong 
vein of adventure in him, combined with a 
proud satisfaction in the loneliness of his, own 

Such types they were, then, these two, cast 
adrift on that desolate beach. They represented, 
as it were, the old civilization and the new ; 
Jonathan with all the force of physical nature, 
silent but insistent in him ; David with all the 
force of Nature's increasing mentality, leaping 
towards the unknown. 

Here on this beach, the first day, they found 
the apparent aperture of a channel through the 
giant sea -rushes, leading into the heart of the 
upper-growth beyond. With all the spurious 
energy that comes to a man eager for discovery 
and with no experience of the dangers entailed. 
David was for starting upon an expedition 
inland at once. 

Jonathan's superior knowledge of that country 
and the difficulties of progress in a tropical 
forest prevailed against this. 

" We'll stop on the beach to-day," said he, 
" and see if anything gets was*hed up. To- 
morrow's time enough to start on that trip." 

So they stayed on the beach another day and 
night. Some reward for this the sea brought 
them. They had already found one of the 
Malaga' s boats washed ashore, the occupants 
drowned, but it was no ill -wind to them that had 
driven those poor creatures to their disaster. 
Some water-bottles they got ; a greater part of 
the boat's equipment, including an axe, some 
rope, and various other things. 

The next day there were washed ashore an 




oilskin and two more bodies — men. In the 
'pocket of one of the coats was a steel and flint 
lighter with the tinder cord sodden but still 
ca£>able of being ignited when dry ; a pipe and 
some tobacco in a pouch, also a sovereign-case 
containing six pounds. 

Jonathan took out a sovereign and offered it 
to David. 

" Give you a quid," he said, " if you find a 
tin of biscuits." 

There was the value of money as they found 

it in those elemental environments'— a symbol, 

no more, but without the power of the Jaw, 

without the vestige of civilization to give it 

• value. 

It was that night, as they lay down on the 
beach together to find some sleep after the days 
of buffeting on the sea, that David first put the 
question which had been running in his mind all 
that day. 

" What chance," . said he, '^do you think 
there is of our getting out of this ? " 

" Being picked up by a boat ?" asked Jonathan. 

David grunted an affirmative. 

"'The remotest," he replied. "They don't 
come in near this shore for another two or three 
hundred miles. The Malaga was nearer than 
. " Then what chance ? " 

" Through that forest ? " Jonathan interrupted. 

David nodded his head. 

"Not the chance of a dog," was the answer 
he received. 


The phannel across their beach opened wide 
at the end of a sort of gully to the sea. The 
first hundred yards or so were through the 
swamp and that deep fringe of what can only 
be described as sea-grass, but tall and strong in 
the stem as the toughest of young bamboo. 
Progress was slow, however, since they were 
paddling with the broken blade-end of an oar 
washed up with one of the ship's boats. And 
the farther they went into the maze of it, the 
darker, the more silent and unhealthy-looking 
it became. The sound of the breaking sea 
became more and more distant. After a time 
the rustle of wind in the grass-tops above their 
heads almost shut it out ; another hundred 
yards or so, and so dense was the vegetation 
about them that they heard it no more. 

They talked a good deal at first, and then, 
when David found the sound of his voice, hitting 
as it were against that wall before them and 
coming back into his face with an eerie whispered 
echo of what seemed its natural tone, he gave 
it up and they went on in silence. 

For an hour or more they had made their way 
through the forest, where sometimes what 
looked like the great root of a gigantic tree 
became a live thing, an eight-foot crocodile, 
slithering down into the water and lying in the 
black depths to continue his sleep. Then, 
almost suddenly, it seemed, the forest ended. 
They drifted into an open swamp again, with 
tall elephant grasses riding high above their 
heads, but filtering-in a greater wealth of light. 

As suddenly' as that swamp began it ended. 
They emerged into the bright fight of the sun 
once more and there Was a beautiful sandy 
beach, about sixty feet wide, beyond which 
rose a rocky bluff, sheer up from the sand, at 
least as high as the highest mahogany tree. 

Here Jonathan looked well about him, at 
the gradual slope on one side of that little 
bay where banana trees, ground-nuts, and 
tomatoes all grew in a lavish profusion, and the 
evidences of orange trees and wild yams were 
to be seen everywhere. He went across to the 
foot of the rocky bluff, where, finding water 
dripping from one of the fissures in meagre drops, 
he put his finger on the place, then laid it on 
his tongue. After that, he turned round to 

" This place," said he, " is where you and I 
will have to live for God knows how long." 

After the toiling through the forest and those 
two nights on the sea, David could not have 
asked for a better prospect. Considering such 
experiences as they had had, the whole 
atmosphere of the place seemed to suggest a 
haven of refuge. 

He looked up at Jonathan when, with somewhat 
of a despondent note in his voice, he had made 
that announcement and replied : " Well — hang 
it all — we've both read ' Robinson Crusoe ' and 
' Swiss Family Robinson ' and made pretence 
of playing at them, if I remember my youth as 
well as I ought. Dash it, last year in London, 
when that week of fogs was on, I'd have given 
a thousand quid to be transported to a place 
like this and told to shift for myself." 

Jonathan nodded his head, saying : " Right 
you are " — but the tone in his voice implied : 
" There's such a thing as transportation for fife." 

One did not often hear that note in his voice. 
David knew now he was speaking from a wider 
knowledge of the conditions than his own. But 
even his knowledge did not embrace every 
condition with which they found their fives 
were to be so intimately concerned. 

David's allusion to Swiss Family Robinson was 
evidently made because that aspect of it appealed 
to his lively imagination. 

Jonathan had said they might be there for 
some weeks before any chance of escape offered. 
The first thing they did therefore was to build 
some sort of habitation ensuring them shelter 
and sleep at night, as well as security from stray 
beasts, such as leopards amongst those rocks, 
or crocodiles coming up out of the swamp. 

It must have been a lively business, this 
making a home for themselves, rather than going 
to the nearest house-agents to inquire what 
residential quarters he had vacant on his books. 
The erection of a palisade to keep out the 
crocodiles from the swamp ; the starting of a 
bonfire at dusk to drive away mosquitoes and 
any prowling leopard that might chance to be 
attracted by the sounds of fife in those still 
places ; the building of a temporary hut with 
a roofing of broad banana leaves, stitched 
together with the pi as oi bamboo spikes, all 




these performances they set to work upon with 
a great enthusiasm. 

It was on the third day when, so to speak, they 
had established themselves in their new home and 
David's hands were too blistered to do any more 
work, that Jonathan proclaimed the necessity 
for a course of action embracing ever)' oppor- 
tunity for securing their escape, 

" We shall have to scramble through that 
forest again, back to the beach," he said, "and 
set up some sort of distress -signal in the hope 
of some devil putting up his glasses in this 
direction from a passing ship. Now we've got 
a base to work from, that's the first precaution/' 

With the fine weather they had had during 
those last five days, 
the sea had taken a 
surface of azure- 
coloured glass ; the 
tall grasses were list- 
less in the still air. 
and the fields of surf 
were no longer 
ploughed with foam. 
Lazily, one after the 
other, the waves came 
rolling in, but the sting 
of the storm had gone 
out of them. 

They had brought 
with them a long bam- 
boo pole. It must 
have been thirty or 
forty feet in length. 
This w p as to be used as 
a flagstaff for the sig- 
nal of distress. A poor 
makeshift it was, not 
intended to be per- 
manent, but Jonathan 
would waste not a dav, 
or leave any effort un- 
made to attract the 
attention of any ship, 
however distant, that 
might be passing. He 
was more eager in 
those first few days to 
get away than was 
David, perhaps because 
he had less hope, or 
partly on account of 
Ins knowledge of what 
life would really mean 
in such a place. 

They fixed their flag- 
staff firmly in the sand, 
with that flutter of 
white at the head of it 
— some garment they 
had taken from one of 
the bodies that had 
been washed ashore. 
When once three cheers 
were given, nothing 
would satisfy David 
but he must swarm up 
it t as far as its thickness 

would allow, just to see what sort of an 
advantage it gave to that bit of white flapping 
up there* Up he went, half-way, Jonathan 
standing there below* on the sandy beach, 
laughing at his efforts. David was laughing 
too, it was so confoundedly greasy and oidy 
his bare feet could grip it. Then, as he looked 
out to sea, all the laughter went out of him 
as though a sudden wind had blown it off his 
lips. In a second he had slithered down to thja 
ground and was gasping to Jonathan what he 
had seen. 

" There's a boat ! " he exclaimed ; " there's a 
boat — a ship's boat— drifting in -shore. 1 — I 
think I saw people in it. I'll swear I did." 


INTO THE BKIGHT H^tf!*] jftS | "f flJnfUN, 1 ' 




I 5 S 


And there, sure enough, from the ground, but 
fthnost concealed l)elow the higher line of 
breakers, was a boat, lilting one instant into 
sight in a sag of the line of surf, then disappearing 
completely from view. 

For five minutes Jonathan never said a word, 
until he had made sure of it at least half-a-dozen 
times, then he turned to David. 

"It's one of the Malaga's boats/' he said. 
" They've kept off-shore alt these days, hoping, 
I suppose, to stay in the track of steamers, 
There can't be a soul alive in her, or at any rate 
with any strength Ieft ? because the drift has 

** I'm going to have a shot and swim 
he said. 

And there was nothing left to do 
'David to have his shot as well. 

for it/ 1 

but for 

caught them. They're 
washing in tins way 
sure enough, If we 
could save that 
boat 1 " 

He said no more, 
but at once began 
Stripping otf all his 

"la the name of 

Heaven- 1 " David 








It was not to be expected that David should 
succeed, or Jonathan either, for that matter. 
At least, however, he accomplished more than 
David's strength allowed him. He got out far 
enough to save the boat before it was capsized 
between the furrows of that held of foam. With 
almost superhuman effort he righted her as she 
came reeling in towards shore, all broadside on 
and half awash in the fret of the tumbling water. 
With the final help of David, her keel was grounded 
in the slush of the sand. They could not heave 
her high and dry. Had she been empty, she 
was one of the heaviest of the Malaga's boats. 
But there, flung about in the bottom between 
the thwarts, all in the helpless attitudes of 
death, were six bodies — four women and two 
men of the Malaga's crew. 

One by one they lifted them out of the boat 
and laid them on that same warm beach of sand 
they had been so thankful for only a few days 

Callous as it may seem, they were far more 
concerned with what had been brought in the 
boat which would be of use, even down to the 
contents of their pockets, than at the sight of « 
those six lifeless bodies. That they had 
struggled for so many days against adversity and 
failed — moreover, what all the horrible circum- 
stances of that failure must have been, for 
here there were only six, whereas when she had 
left the Malaga's side the boat had been full — 
seemed in no way so full of tragedy as the fact 
that there was only one half-full box of biscuits 
left of all their stores. Both men had pipes and 
some quantity of tobacco left. They could 
hardly have smoked at all for those ten days or 
so. Every one of them had died from some 
form of exhaustion and sickness brought on by 
thirst. All the water-bottles were dry as bones. 
Many, no doubt, had gone mad, as they do 
under the strain of acute thirst, and thrown 
themselves overboard. So at least they ac- 
counted for those six bodies remaining out of 
the boat-load which had set forth from the side 
of the burning Malaga, 

This callousness may seem more understand- 
able where the bodies of the men were concerned. 
To David, as he came to the body of one of the 
women, more a girl she was, scarcely twenty-four 
or five, all eagerness for the discovery of things 
of use to them left him. As he bent over her 
the sense of sacrilege to the dead came suddenly 
over him when he looked into her face. The next 
second, with the last half of the breath he was 
that moment breathing, he had shouted Jona- 
than's name. 

He looked up from where he was kneeling, 
caught in a sudden tension of interest by the 
note in David's voice. 

" She's breathing I " he shouted. ** She's— 
she's alive man I What can we do ? " 

Though David put the question, he was the 
only one of those two who knew what was best 
to be done. It was patently enough a case of 
exhaustion, of fever brought about by the 
prolonged need of moisture in her system. 

David always carried his fountain-pen and a 

Digitized by ti* 

filler, and had laughed over the fact with Jonathan 
only two days before, because devil a drop of 
ink could he ever hope to make or find in that 
corner of the world. Now that filler was in- 
valuable. Charged with brandy from Jonathan's 
flask which they had brought with them, he got 
some of the liquid well down her throat, past 
the terribly parched tongue she had. Slightly 
she shivered, as the warmth of it found its way 
into her veins. But it was a long time before 
she returned to actual consciousness. 

It must have been half an hour before she 
opened her eyes ; another hour at least before 
she could utter a word, and then in that rasped 
and hoarse tone of voice as though the very cords 
in her throat were drawn and withered with the 
drought in her body. 

She asked where she was. David did his 
best to explain, realizing how foolish any explana- 
tions must really be to her then. After a while, 
he fed her with pieces of biscuits, soaked in 
brandy and water. Even then it was with the 
greatest pain and effort she could swallow them. 
Nevertheless, they gave her strength. There 
was a moment when she fastened her feverish 
eyes on him in gratitude. 

In about two hours' time she had regained 
sufficient strength to bear being lifted into the 
boat. Then, with all their new-found possessions, 
amongst which the boat, of course, was the most 
invaluable of all, they set out, up that gully 
from the sea, back by the path through the 
swamp and the forest to the creek. 

In about seven or eight days, Joan — as her 
name proved to be — was w^ll enough to leave 
the hut for the first time and, on David's arm, 
to walk out into the sunshine. For all that time 
he, alone, had nursed and tended to her. There 
was enough of the feminine quality in his 
temperament, detracting nothing from his 
masculinity, to enable him to sense- acutely the 
things that mean much to women, without 
pretending to understand the intrinsic quality 
of the things themselves. 

Gradually, David had told her all their 
schemes, the plans they were making for their 
comfort and ultimate escape, until, with the 
returning of her* strength, she became as eager 
as a child to be up and helping them in the work, 
the benefits of which she was herself to share. 

She was full of curiosity .about Jonathan, 
this man who was only visualized so far to her 
by a constant sound of hammering. Again and 
again she asked David why he did not come to 
see her. 

" We shall have to meet sooner or later," she 
said once with a laugh. 

And he had to invent all sorts of excuses, the 
most convincing of which was the true one, that 
Jonathan was not, first and foremost, a ladies' 
man, and certainly was not at his best as a 
conversationalist in their bedroom. 

" I think I shall like him," was Joan's reply 
to that. 

It becomes necessary here to sketch as biiefly 
as possible tho tyjpe of woman she was. Her 




father was prominently connected with diamond 
mines near Kimberley ; a big and evidently^ a 
wealthy man in his way. Believing in an 
English education, he had sent his daughter to 
England to school at the age of ten, and there, 
in charge of friends whose leniency had given 
her every freedom, she had been brought up. 
Every year her father had come home for a 
month or so to see her. Her mother was dead. 
FYom all these circumstances, and receiving a 
generous allowance from her father, she had 
grown up with an unusual sense of freedom in a 
girl, and an uncommon spirit of independence 
as compared with many women they met before 
the war. 

Asked by David on one of those occasions 
when she was speaking of her upbringing why 
she had never married, she replied : — 

" But why ? Why ask that ? " 

"Well, Ltake it," said he, boldly, "you're 
half-way between twenty and thirty. Most 
girls come to matrimony by then with less 
qualifications for it than you." 

By the use of that phrase she knew, appar- 
ently, that he was avoiding a compliment, and 
doubtless liked him the better for it. She did 
not, anyhow, press to know what sort of qualifi- 
cations he implied. A sensible woman knows 
the full extent of her attractions and prefers 
deeds for compliments rather than words. She 
did not, however, answer his question, but put 
another straight to him. 

" Are you married ? "' she inquired. 

" Neither of us are," said he. 

" Well, I take it you're between thirty and 
forty and with necessary qualifications — why 
haven't you ? " 

For himself David replied that there was a 
little matter of finding the one woman. 

"Do you imply from that," "she asked him, 
" that there's a superfluity of the right men ? " 

This is an example of the conversations they 
had in the hut while he was attending to her 
and, invariably, by some turn of her wit, or 
twist of his sense of humour, they all ended in 
laughter. Hearing it, between the blows of 
his improvised hammer or the swing of his axe, 
Jonathan often chafed at the sound, when the 
blows with which he followed it were the heavier 
though not necessarily the more effective. 

She appears to have proved an excellent worker 
when her mood did not incline her to be too 

This femininity displayed itself in various 
ways. She had told them on one occasion that 
the day following was her birthday. 

" How old do you think I shall be ? " she 
asked Jonathan, with a directness that reduced 
him to confusion. They could see him go red 
under the tan of his skin, and David honestly 
felt sorry for him. She never felt a twinge, or, 
if she did, concealed it with laughter that rang 
with real amusement. 

* 4 You can say just what you think," she said ; 
" there are no other women present." 

Jonathan hazarded twenty -three to be on the 

safe side, whereupon she turned to David, 
ignoring Jonathan for the rest of the conversa- 
tion, because she knew he had funked it. 

It was a few hou^-s after she had informed 
them of the coming event that David was going 
through the forest to fetch the day's water from 
the stream they had discovered on their arrival, 
the existence of which, indeed, had primarily 
made the creek habitable. 

On his return with the bucket they had 
found on the Malaga's boat, he heard a sound 
of whining in the thick undergrowth near the edge 
of the rough track they had cut to the stream. 
The sight of a little female tree-bear, scurrying 
away at the sound of his approach, was quite 
sufficient to tell him what had happened. One 
of her young 'uns had fallen from his perch, and 
not all the King's horses, or all the King's men, 
as expressed in her piteous maternal anxieties, 
could set the wretched little beast up again. 

David found the little beggar easily enough- 
He was whining his heart out at the punishment, 
probably for his own disobedience, but he was 
quite unhurt. A huge patch of tropical moss, 
as thick as a feather-bed, had broken his fall, 
and though he looked a bit dazed — he must 
have fallen only a few moments before — there 
were no bones broken. 

How to get him back again up those colossal 
trees, if it was a problem to his mother was 
certainly a riddle to David. And then, in a 
flash of inspiration, he thought of Joan, her 
birthday, and the attendant celebration, the 
observance of which she had so unconsciously 
forced upon their minds. 

The only impulse he was aware of at the time 
was the thought that she would go into ecstasies 
over it, if there were such an emotion as the 
maternal instinct in her at all. Having come, 
then, to that decision. David picked it up in 
his arms and carried it back towards the creek. 
Just before he reached the edge of the forest 
he plaited together some strong vine tendrils, 
made a halter for it, and tethered it up where 
it would be quite safe till the next day, and 
that evening, when nothing was doing, he went 
back to see how it was and give it some honey. 

That Jonathan was no less anxious to celebrate 
this occasion was plain enough. He suggested 
they should have some sort of a feast, and had 
gone down in the small canoe they had built 
to the beach, there spending the whole day 
fishing in the channel that connected their 
waterway through the swamp with the sea. 

In the evening he returned well satisfied with 
the results. There was every prospect of what 
to them would be a banquet, and the more 
phased David saw he was, the less inclined he ' 
felt to tell him of the present he had found for 

Here was the beginning of secrecy. Jonathan, 
too, had kept his secret. On the way back 
from the beach he had picked a collection of 
the most gloriously coloured orchids, and had 
hidden them somewhere behind the hut. David 
saw them, by accident, standing in a wooden 
bowl filled with swamp-water, keeping fresh for 
the decoration of their 'filQle. 




David must have thought flbthing of that 
secrecy at the time, for there was he with some- 
thing up his own sleeve as well. He never 
supposed Jonathan was vying with him for a. 
place in her estimation. It must have been 
unconscious in both of them. Yet there 
inevitably it was, and on that day of her birth- 
day there was germinated in them a seed of 
jealousy, the growth of which no civilization 
could ignore, no gloss of speech or veneer of 
habits and custom could disguise. 

When she appeared at that birthday feast 
they both looked at her in amazement, with no 
little admiration too. For the last few* weeks 
they had only seen her in an unbecoming suit 
of sailor's trousers, secured with straps over 
her shoulders, and in "appearance, at least, had 
come to regard her as a creature much like 
themselves. Here, however, was a woman, and 
all the more fascinating by contrast, just as was 
Rejane, in " La Passerelle," when she first makes 
her appearance in beautiful clothes in the second 

Jonathan's discomfort can well be imagined. 
He had come so much to regard her — as they 
say in familiar parlance, " in those trousers " — 
as one of themselves, that he was completely 
bowled over by the dramatic situation of tnat 
change of dress. He forgot all about the flowers 
he had gathered with such trouble. David was 
none too comfortable himself. 

It was not that she was so extraordinarily 
well dressed, for her things were badly creased — 
a fact she pointed out to them straignt away. 
It was, to put it concisely, that she was a 
beautiful woman, the more beautiful to them, 
perhaps, who for nearly the last two months 
had seen nothing but an able seaman whose 
strength they had tacitly agreed upon must not 
be overtaxed. 

" Don't look so amazed/' she said, as she 
stood there in the doorway, laughing. 4t It's 
my birthday — mayn't I dress up ? " 

They all sat down, Jonathan and David 
paying her attentions/ quite unconsciously waiting 
on her with an excess of zeal ; or, if they were 
aware of it, telling themselves that it was because 
it was her birthday. 

It was she, naturally enough, who noticed the 
orchids, and long before Jonathan realized how 
their existence had slipped out of his mind. 

" Who got the flowers ? " she asked, as she 
sat down. She looked from one to the other of 
them. There was no need for any reply. 
Jonathan's face was a study, if not in scarlet, 
then of that expression which goes with the 

" You got them ! " she exclaimed, and they 
could see how surprised she was that the thought 
had come from him. So surprised was she, 
indeed, that she leant forward across the table 
and just touched his hand in the simplest and 
most unaffected expression of gratitude one 
could have imagined. No one on earth could 
have accused her of any purpose or impulse 
but that of gratefulness, but the moment she 
bad done it no one could have been so blind as 
not to observe the effect it had. 

It was as though in that instant she had set 
her choice on Jonathan. David knew he felt 
that ; he knew also that at the expression which 
swept over his face, and the sight of her hand 
touching his, his own blood rushed like a hot 
spring, boiling beneath the surface of the ground. 
It was all he could do not to make a fool of 
himself, not to get up then and there, saying to 
himself he would leave them to their love-making 
in peace, if that was their inclination. 

Fortunately for himself, he did nothing of the 

.kind. She nevertheless saw the effect of what 

she had done, and the next second had taken 

her hand away with a quick gesture and a nervous 


David waited until the feast was over, and then, 
as casually as he could, said he had got a present 
for her. 

She became like a child, wanting to know what 
it was. With some ceremony he brought in the 
little beast of a bear, tumbling about at the end 
of his plaited halter like a collie-pup, all hair and 
no shape, with a couple of eyes like the black 
heads of hat-pins sticking a yard out of his head. 

Joan had often seen tree-bears in the forest, 
and needed no introduction to know what it was. 
Tne next instant it was in her arms, and for a 
couple of healthy men, during those momenta 
wnne she talked nonsense to it, they must have 
looKed the biggest fools in creation. 

Inere was one second, however, when she 
looKed her gratitude at David over the top of 
its head, and in sole possession of that look he 
went out into the creek intensely happy. 

For the rest of that day the little beast 
monopolized the whole of her time, and in all 
the affection she bestowed upon it, David felt 
he had some sort of proprietary share. He 
knew Jonathan had the sense of being right out 
of it. The possession of the creature had 
completely laid hold upon the hidden depths of 
her imagination. She had forgotten the flowers ; 
forgotten the awkwardness of that moment 
when she had touched his hand. David had no 
reason to deny that he was glad. He felt that 
he had won the day which had begun so well 
in Jonathan's favour. What is more, • there 
were some moments when, as Jonathan looked 
at that animal in her arms, he almost hated his 

In this manner appeared the first palpable 
change which had come about in their friendship. 
After a night's sleep, with doubtless not a few 
hours of thought over all that had happened 
that day, they were not a little shocked to 
discover the change it had wrought in them, 
But once realizing it, they did all they knew to 
pull themselves together. 

Civilization, after all, was not so far behind 
them in those first few weeks. 

Jonathan was the first to speak the necessary 
word. He the most completely of the two had 
deceived himself with good sound reasons. 

" Unless we take damned good care of our- 
selves," he said, " this girl's going to make a 
hopeless mess of all oux pians to get away. We 




aren't here for the fun of the thing and, as far 
as I can help it, we're not going to stay for the 
tun of it cither, It's no good working against 
each other- We've got to work together/' 

For answer, David just took hold of his hand 
and wrung it. 

*' My dear old chap," he said, with the deepest 
sincerity, " I've been trying to say something 
as sensible as that, ever since I got up." 

" Well, she's nothing to us/' said Jonathan, 

" Tell her/' said Jonathan, " tell her what 
our interests are — that they* re not in seeing 
who can pay her the most acceptable attentions, 
but in finding a way out of this beastly place as 
quickly as we can, and that she must co-operate 
in every way it is possible for her to do so. It 
is no good her dancing in in a Bond Street 
costume when there's work to be done all day 
and every day, We must make our first shot 
by launching the boat, and if we get her o2 we 



"Nothing/' said David. 

" We never saw her till three weeks ago." 

''' That's all." 

" The whole point is," Jonathan continued, 
" that if we goon fooling over her and fussing 
about her lilce we did yesterday, our httle 
limited company of interests is going to go to 
blazes. There's only one way to put a stop to 

Not seeing it so easy a matter as that* David 
inquired what it was. 

may be some days at sea and have ultimately to 
return here after alL What I've been aiming 
at is to make this place as comfortable a base 
for operations as it's possible to make it H and 
then when that's done as a safeguard, to leave 
no stone unturned to get away/' 

To these suggestions of Jonathan's, David 
made a sensible amendment. 

" Tell her/ 1 he said ; " tell her by all means. 
Let's have a serious talk with hen But its not 
a bit of good puuing it down to her dressing up 




in her Bond Street fal-lals. Don't let's say 
anything about that." 

" Why not tell her exactly what we mean, 
and have done with it ? " asked Jonathan. 

• M Because what we mean," replied David, 
" is about the weakest part of what we want to 
say. What we mean is that we're afraid of 
her sex, and what we want to say is that we don't 
care a tu'penny cuss about it one way or another." 

The honesty of this was too subtle for Jonathan. 

" Say it your own way, then," said he;, " but 
let's have her in now and get it over." 

She came at once to, David's calling, dressed 
as she had been for those past few weeks, in her 
seaman's trousers suspended with straps over 
her shoulders. . 

" Have I done anything wrong ? " she asked* 
looking from one to the other. 

" Can't we call you in for a talk without you 
thinking that ? " said David. " We're a limited 
liability company, not yet floated, but we want 
to float one day, if we get the chance." 

Still she looked -Jrom one to the other, knowing 
well they had not called her' in to tell her that. 

" Well, what have you got to say ? " she asked, 

" Only this," replied David, no less on guard 
himself — " that we want to get out of this place. 
That sounds like a platitude, but it needs to bo 
said, because it entails certain things we want 
to talk to-you about." 

" Go. on," she said, quietly. 

" Well/ there are two ways of escape," he 
continued—" at least two ways that lie in our 
compass to attempt. The chance of a passing 
ship we've* provided for, with signals as well as 
we can. That's in the lap of the gods." 

" There are so many things in that lap," said, 
she. s 

" Exactly. We can't- leave it alone at that, 
Ajid with the other two ways, there are risks — 
pretty considerable ones. What we want to 
know is, if- you're prepared, when you hear what 
they are, to share them ?. " 

"What are.' they-? " 

Jonathan interposed here, telling her of the 
attempt they intended to make through the 

" So far as I can calculate," he said, " we're 
something like fifty or seventy miles — maybe 
more — from the nearest place of habitation. 
When we get to that it'll be no more than a few 
huts. However, it would be in touch with the 
world again. Even so, that fifty or seventy 
miles is through tropical forest. The other 
chance is the sea ; launching the boat across 
that surf and getting out to a passing ship— 
a matter of twenty or thirty miles, perhaps — • 
limited provisions again. The risk is always 
the same — starvation." 

All this Jonathan must have said as though 
he were giving orders to his foreman. 

" Did you call me in here," she asked, proudly, 
" because you thought I wasn't prepared to 
share any risks that were going ? " 

There must have been something besides 

pride in her voice, for David was very quick to 
answer that. 

" No — no — no," he said, hurriedly. " We 
know you're game enough for anything. It 
isn't that a bit. It is that we must work 
together ; help, not hinder each other. In this 
deserted place we're right up against it, and the 
ordinary civilized laws don't exist." 

In a moment of inspiration, he thought of a 
better way of putting it. 

" It all amounts to this," he said. " We were 
afraid you hadn't got the hang of .the situation ; 
that you wanted to be treated with extra 
attentions because you were a woman — whereas, 
in this situation we find ourselves flung into, 
there's no such thing as sex at all. We want to 
get out, and that's all there is about it." 

He looked at Jonathan and emphatically 
Jonathan nodded his head. 

" David's got it in a nut-shell," he said, 
abruptly. " In an affair like this, everybody's 
one of a company, and we've got to hang 
together." - 

She listened quite quietly to all this after that 
first moment of pride when, as David had seen, 
she was certainly hurt. When Jonathan had 
finished she said : — ■ 

* " Then I mustn't persuade you to give me 
little presents on my birthday— or pay me 
attentions of any kind, because that interferes 
with the work and creates a sense of friction in 
the company. That's right — isn't it ?•" 

They looked at her. They looked at each 
other but said nothing. 

" That's what you mean— isn't it ? " she 
repeated. " And I'm not to put on my best, 
because it's my only frock, as, in a situation like 
this, there's no such thing as sex. I believe I've 
got your meaning, haven't I ? " 

" You've got the gist of it," said Jonathan. 

" If you'll take it," added David, " in the 
Spirit in which it was meant." 

She looked at them, smiled, but said no more 
and then went out of the hut. They remained 
for a moment staring at each other when she had 
gone. David was the first to break the silence. 

" We're a couple of the most consummate fools 
that God ever made," said he. 

In amazement Jonathan asked why. 

" She understands ail right," he said. " She 
told us she did. Why, she realized we were 
hinting about her rigging herself up in that dress 
yesterday ! I thought that showed quite a nice 
sense of understanding." 

" Oh, yes — she understands," David replied. 
" There wasn't a word or a look she didn't 
understand and a good deal better than we do 
ourselves. You've travelled all over the world, 
and you talk about elemental laws and symbols 
and impulsory instincts as though they were 
things that had to be learnt by experience, 
before a man can set his life by them. That 
girl's got more knowledge of them in the tip of 
her little finger without going out of a London 
drawing-room than you've collected in fifteen 
years' tramping round the world." 

(To be continued 


Original from 




T/ie Man and the Soldier — His Character^ Habits^ 
and Opinions — His Principles of War. 

HE German papers, which have 
frequently spoken with bitter 
irony of the French generals, 
and which always treated them 
with a haughty condescension, 
use nothing but grave , and 
respectful words when they 
treat of General Foch. 
" Here is one worthy of measuring swords 
with the best German generals." Such was 
the appreciation given him by. the Breslauer 
Zeitung in the early months of the war, even 
before Foch had shown the full measure of his 
greatness. And, recently, the Gazette de Cologne 
said : " We have to count with a redoubtable 
adversary in General Foch. He is a leader 
who knows what he wants and who will act 
with calm tenacity." ' 

There is the man, accurately portrayed in 
homage paid by the enemy. The Generalissimo 
of the united Allied Armies is remarkable for 
his imperturbable calm, a tranquillity never 
ruffled. He has none of Joffre's smiling bonhomie 
and easy good-nature. He is reserved in speech 
and gesture. He is cold. Above all, he is 
simple — a man of few words. 

One of his orderly officers has drawn this 
portrait of him : — 

" He is a man who has kept young. He is 
slight and supple and rather delicate in appear- 
ance, with a fine head." 

What strikes one most at first sight is his 
clear, penetrating, vitally-intelligent, but, above 
all, luminous glance. His wonderful eyes 
spiritualize the whole face, which otherwise 
might appear surly, with the great moustache 
jutting over a projecting jaw. When he talks 
he becomes intensely animated. Usually, how- 
ever, his calm face is stamped with sadness, 
for he has given his son and his son-in-law to 

No one has told, although it is a fact, how 
never a day passes without his withdrawing 

Digitized by G* 

for a few moments of meditation in the 
nearest church ; it may be only a shell- 
shattered ruin. He always goes alone, and 
never mentions his going to his officers. It 
is no mere parade of religion. It is simply 
that he needs every day to withdraw awhile 
from life's turmoil and draw close to the Master 
of all men and all destinies. There is nothing 
theatrical, no " show-off " about this action 
— no pompous invocation of the Almighty, 
after the manner of the Kaiser. It is a simple 
act of true piety by a simple man. 

The same calm gravity makes him flee all 
brilliant and showy functions. On principle, 
he refuses to attend all those to which he is 
invited. In his own words, "He hasn't the 
time. He has to go and work." 

With his subordinates he is always affable, 
but photographers and cinema-men are anathema 
to him. He dislikes offending or disobliging 
anyone, but he will not lend himself to publicity. 
He absolutely refuses to be shown pressing the 
hands of village mayors, receiving bouquets 
from little girls, or taking the salute at reviews. 
As a matter of fact he has no time for reviews. 
His job is elsewhere, and his saddle-horse is 
hardly ever mounted, although he loves sport 
above all things. 

In his dress, as in all else, he tries to avoid 
everything that does not make for simplicity. 
Fancy or pretty-pretty uniforms irritate him. 
and, preaching by example, he is nearly always 
to be seen in the ordinary sky-blue uniform. 
But for the hardly perceptible little stars, one 
would take him for a simple soldier. 

The few who have had the honour of coming 
in contact with him tell us that he hardly sleeps 
at all, that he has no set hours of rest. 

At the time of the last offensive towards the 
Marne and at the time of the offensive against 
the English he was awake during five days 
and five nights, his ear bent to the telephone, 
in constant communication with his generals. 





His table reflects his mode of life* His are 
a soldier's meals, eaten quickly and without 
conversation. As a man of action he possesses 
a good appetite, but one meat course, a dish of 
vegetables, and a cup of coifec constitute his 
daily menu. 

Once only, after some hours particularly 
poignant for France, General Fuch, departing 
from his habitual taciturnity, invited the 
correspondents of some of the big French news- 
papers to meet him. He was quartered in an 
old house of the Louis XVI* period, where 
he occupied a large room whose furniture was 
that of a middle-class trades imi 


well picture a great table overflowing with 
plans and maps, with notes, with illegible scrawls. 
Quite wrong! On Foch'a table there was an 
ink-pot, a file, a blotter, and a telephone* 
Nothing mure. Such a table would certainly 
have seemed far too unimpressive for some 
second-rate financier 'phoning his orders to 
'Change, Yet here the late of the world was 
being decided. On the wall hung a great map 
of the fighting area. 

The personality of General Foch is full of charm. 
One catches in his voice the delightful singing 
cadences which call to mind hjs Pyrenean origin. 
Born at Tart@f,jrJTJfi 1 al|is|Bfoffitained the stamp 




of that rugged highland country where sternness 
of character is softened by cordiality and simple 
frankness. He loves that country of pleasant 
memories. He loves all outdoor pursuits, 
afoot or astride. 

His father, at the time of his birth — sixty- 
seven years ago — was Secretary-General to the 
Prefecture at Tarbes. Here, and later at Rodez 
and St. Etienne, Ferdinand Foch was educated 
by the Jesuit Fathers. 

His mother was the daughter of an officer of 
the First" Empire, whom Napoleon had created 
a Chevalier after the Spanish war. Grandpapa 
Dupr6 was the pride of the family. His cam- 
paigns were twice-told tales, and young Ferdinand 
early developed a deep veneration for that 
tremendous personage. 

He completed his studies at Metz, where he 
learned to know and love and understand the 
soul of Lor aine, as it was before the Franco- 
German War. His sojourn in Metz stamped 
itself upon his mind. Often he talks of his stay 
there, of which he does not forget the smallest 
detail. He was there on the eve of the war — the 
former war — when he was cramming for tl^e 
Ecole Polytechnique examinations. 

It was said of him in those days that he " was 
precise as a figure in geometry," and he often 
recalls this tribute, of which he was very proud, 
saying that it was his greatest asset. His mind 
was tinged with the precision of science. 

But the student of science was also a lover 
of military history. He set himself to master 
thoroughly the lives, ideas, and methods of the 
great Prussian generals, and he did not hesitate 
to write some very penetrating and concise 
criticisms on them. He was a passionate 
admirer of Napoleon, whose war technique he 
studied indefatigably. 

As the result of these long studies he was able 
not only to impart his deep knowledge to others 
when, as a major, in 1896, he was appointed 
Professor of Strategy and Tactics at the Ecolt 
de Guerre, but has himself written a most im- 
portant and comprehensive treatise on the art 
of war. 

The instruction which he gave during five 
years to his youngest brothers-in-arms is to 
them for ever unforgettable. Foch's lectures 
were remarkable for their precision, their 
originality, and their loftiness of thought. 
They immediately became classics, and one can 
see clearly that the young generals of to-day, 
who were all Foch's pupils at the Ecole de Guerre, 
still bear the stamp of his teaching. The pick 
of the school were nicknamed " The School of 

A book of his which is of the highest order, 
" The Principles of War," is regarded as an 

"In tnemoriam, in spem" ("With hope and 
in remembrance"). These are the concluding 
words of this work : words which might be taken 
as the motto of General Foch's whole life. 

This book is perhaps the only one among all 
the works of its kind written before 1914 which 
visualized the possibility of the terrible happen- 
ings we have seen, and which have revolutionized 

the art of war. It seems that this man foresaw, 
sensed the coming of the otherwise unsuspected, 
unheard-of tragedy. 

Certain of his teachings are extraordinarily 
interesting reading at the present time. 
especially when one thinks that their author is 
at the head of the Allied Armies. Foch, in 
minutely studying the military events of 1870, 
found therein many useful lessons for the future, 
that future which is now the present 

He shows the Germans courting battle, for 
which they have powerful resources. The 
French were beaten because they did not know 
how to attach ; because they never could make 
the swift decisions which war demands. The 
inertia of France in 1870 was the cause of the 
success of German strategy. 

"Had she," he exclaimed, "an idea of the 
conduct of the battle as a whole ? All she knew 
was the ' Retire/ and those who commanded 
divisions, passive, timorous, reluctant to act. 
sticking to the letter of their orders, always 
looking behind, had not the qualities of the 
Prussian generals, their activity, their daring, 
and the certainty of the support of their com- 

Foch is the firm partisan of what he calls 
" the sword-stroke through the heart " or " a 
club on the head." The decisive attack, he 
says, is the supreme argument of modern battle ; 
attack prepared with careful judgment and 
carried out at the right moment. The best 
method of defence is attack. The weaker one 
is, the more one should attack. A defensive 
battle, even when brilliantly conducted, lias 
neither victor nor vanquished. It simply means 
beginning all over again. 

The natural corollary of this is that the 
offensive, whether it precedes or follows the 
defensive, can show no result until the last 
moment. To maintain our positions is not 
synonymous with being victorious ; it is inviting 
defeat if we stay where we are and do not pass 
to the offensive. To determine the direction 
of the attack, to defend ourselves against the 
plans of the enemy, to prevent him from carrying 
out an analogous manoeuvre we must undertake, 
carry out, and sustain fresh combats, all with 
one end in view. But while there can be no 
doubt the decisive attack, with concerted 
action, is the touchstone of every battle, all the 
minor actions which form the battle must be 
envisaged, considered, organized, and equipped 
with the maximum of preparation, facility, and 

Foch writes : " Whatever may be the situa- 
tion to be resolved in war, there is only one way 
to avoid mistakes, faults, disasters, or to deter- 
mine what tactics to exercise on a given day, 
but that one is sure and certain ; the exclusive 
cult in its best sense and most precise meaning 
of two abstractions in the moral sphere — duty 
and discipline. 

" To command has never meant to be mysteri- 
ous ; on the contrary, the idea which animates 
the order should be explained to the immediate 

" The art of war," he wites again, " does not 




consist in a general falling upon the enemy like 
a wild boar. It i$ necessary that he should 
have the hearts and minds of those under him 
Completely subordinated to higher authority. 
Therefore we must enlighten our subordinates, 
because blind obedience does not necessarily 
make for rational and logical execution of the 
idea conceived by the Generalissimo," 

All the theories which he boldly expounded 
long before the outbreak of war assume a special 
significance when one reflects that the soldier 
who conceived and expressed thern is to-day 
the u man of the hour/' 

All that we have seen of hinl on the Marne, 
the Yser, the Somme, and elsewhere is mereiy 
concrete proof of the correctness of his teaching. 

The admirable tenacity of purpose which is 
bis contributed in no small degree to the victory 
of the Marne. His army it was, forming the 
centre, which the enemy tried to break through 
between Mailly and Sezanne, During three 
consecutive days he was forced to retire, but 
each morning he snatched the offensive with 
such good effect that in the end his obstinacy 
carried the day, and, profiting by a false move 
on the enemy's part, he took him in the 
flank and beat him in his turn. He showed 
the same tenacity 
in those critical 
days of the power- 
ful enemy attacks 
before Ypres, of 
which Lord French 
spoke with the 
deepest admiration. 

It was in such a 
moment of bitter 
agony that some- 
one said to him, 
'* There is nothing 
left but to die/" 

" we must hold on 
here first. Only 
then can we afford 
to die/' 

General Foch is 
little seen nowa- 
days. His hercu- 
lean daily task — 
heavier than it 
seems humanly pos- 
sible for one man 
to undertake— pins 
him to his head- 
quarters* In this he 
is quite different 
from General Jo fire, 
who wxnt about a 
great deal . Even 
when he docs go 
among his troops — 
for instance, to as- 
Sure himself of the 
importance of this 
or that position — 


he hardly ever pauses. He dislikes Ms remarks 
to be repeated from mouth to mouth among the 
soldiers. And yet they always are, for there is 
in them a magic fluid ; from end to end of the 
army they fly, the countersigns of confidence* 
Ji If Foch is with us we're all right/' they say. 
His relations with the English generals were 
singularly happy. He has always admired 
the British Army, He was, perhaps, before 
the war, the general who ,knew more of that 
army than any other. He had been charged 
with an important military mission in regard 
to it, and he saw in it all the possibilities of a 
great living force. He said so boldly, and in 
the terrible days of the first Battle of the Marne 
the young English Army proved itself worthy 
of his confidence. 

Let us remember that laconic phrase of his 
which, better than half-a-dozen speeches, sums 
up hi3 calm tranquillity ; words spoken in the 
gravely-anxious moments which saw the upeiiing 
round of the last Great Game : — 

"If I had to choose between Hindenburg's 
cards and my cards, I would choose my own/* 

Another side of this great man is shown in 
Other words of his : — - 

H * Ah p you do not know what a father suffers 

when m o u ruing 
enters into his house 
permanently. My 
son is gone and one 
of my daughters is 
widowed . I sh a 11 re - 
turn to a house that 
I left full of happi- 
ness on a summer 
Sunday to rind poor 
wee orphans who 
never even knew 
their father. I am 
nearing the twilight 
of my life and I 
think T have been 
a faithful servant 
whose hope is to 
rest in the peace of 
our Lord. There 
are, like myself, 
thousands and 
thousands of fond 
old fathers who 
have lost all they 
loved, the sons on 
whom their hope 
was set* But we 
have no right to 
self - pi ty . Our 
country — our be- 
loved pa trie — is all 
that matters. Let us 
accept the sacrifice. 
The whole of hu- 
manity is at stake. 
Liberty must first 
t ri u m ph . A f tcrwards 
we may weep/' 



by Google 

Original from 




Illustrated ty E. F. SheriG. 

USK and a fine driving rain were 
sweeping up harbour from the 
sea. The shadows that had 
gathered in the folds of the 
hills ashore swiftly overflowed 
and settled down over the 
muddy town and wharves, en* 
gulfing the straggling dockyard, 
As night fell, Eights glimmered here and there 
on the hillside and were obliterated ; across the 
swift -running ebb-tide the irritable chatter of 
pneumatic riveters drifted in gusts ; and in the 
direction from which the sound came a few 
shaded arc- lights shone upon the ha If -discerned 
ribs of craft on the building slips. 

Something beside the night was coming tn 
from the sea : a ship with a heavy list, labouring 
in with a tug on either side of her and another 
fretting at the end of the tow. They passed, a 
mere smear of uncertain outlines, through the 
outer defences, and a couple of long black 
shadows that were the escorting destroyers 
wheeled again to seaward and were blotted from 

A number of small Craft were afloat in the 
lower reaches of the harbour. A hospital 
launch, with the Geneva cross visible through 
the dusk against her white upper works* lay 
rolling gently by the berth towards which the 
tow was heading. Another steam launch circled 
impatiently round, and in her stern sheets a 
group of armed Marines stood watching the 

Digitizea by Kj* 

watchms ; 

approaching vessels 
above the upturned 
collars of their great- 
coats , T he stea mi n g - 
light of the hospital 
boat glimmered 
momentarily on the 
barrels of their rifles. 
" 'Ullo ! " said a 
sickberth attendant 
in the hospital boat. 
" Guard o" Marines — 
eh? ,J 

The sternsheets- 
man nodded towards 
the approaching tow- 
lights* " Prisoners." 
he said, senten- 
tiously, and was 
silent, watching the 
shadowy ship loom- 
ing towards - them 
out of the murk. 
The tug on the tow 
slipped the hawser 
with a blast on her syren and turned shoreward ; 
the splash of an anchor let go and the rattle of 
cable fol lowed. The coxswain of the hospital 
boat, as if awaiting a signal, put out his hand 
towards the telegraph and rang low speed ahead. 
A light appeared at the gangway of the shadowy 

One of the tugs alongside had cast off and was 
backing astern into the darkness ; as she cleared 
the ship's side a steamboat with her bow lights 
gleaming through the drizzle like red and green 
jewels crossed the bows, swept round in a graceful 
circle, and ran alongside. A rope ladder droppep 
from the upper deck of the ship and a figure in 
oilskins, who had been standing in the stern 
sheets of the steamboat, caught it as it swayed, 

M Lay off." he said, curtly, to the coxswain 
and climbed" inboard. 

A seaman stood at the gangway holding a 
lantern above his head, and as the new-comer 
stepped inboard another figure came, forward 
into the li^ht to greet him. He was a loose- 
limlsed youngish man wearing the cap and 
monkey-jacket of a Commander. Leather sea- 
boots reached to his knees, and he dragged his 
feet as he walked, as if oppressed with a great 
weariness. He peered at the new-comer through 
the drizzle for an instant, and then saluted. A 
grave smile flitted across his face, lit for a moment 
by the lantern-light. 

" Congratulate you I M said the visitor, in 
quick incisive tones. i( Are you all right — 

wounded ? 'Original from 



" No, sir, not a scratch. Ship's badly knocked 
about, but she 11 float. Dynamo's gone and we've 

only got lanterns, but you can see ' He 

nodded forward. 

The visitor came a pace or two inboard and 
stood looking about the upper deck in silence. 
Figures' were moving to and fro with lanterns, 
and the uncertain light flickered on splintered 
planking and upper works shattered and distorted 
by shell-fire. The air was pungent with the 
sour odour of wet charred wood-work. 

" Yes ' said the newcomer, in a low voice, 

as if speaking to himself. " Yes " He stared 

at the riven funnel overhead and thence to the 
rents in the bulwarks. " Where are your dead ? " 

" Aft, sir." The Commander led the way 
past piles of crumpled wreckage, down a ladder 
and across an open space. A sentry leaning 
on his rifle at a doorway jerked to attention. 
" Here are the dead, sir," said the Commander : 
he stepped through the door and indicated in 
the flickering lantern-light a row of motionless 
figures resting' beneath a Uaion Jack. 

The other halted and stood -in silent contem- 
plation of the shrouded forms outlined dimly 
amongst the shadows. His chin had sunk [on 
his breast, and for a minute he remained thus 
motionless. Then, slowly, he turned away. 

" The men ' wfcre absolutely splendid, sir," 
said the Commander as he -led the way forward 
again. f ' I — I don't know' how to express what 
I fed about them: This was out and -away the 

worst show we've had, and they were " the 

speaker broke^oflf and- seemed to swallow some- 
thing, "magnificent.'' The inadequacy of the. 
English language "sfeetried /to embarrass him. 
He made a little gesture : " Surgeon was killed, 
an' I did what I could; but I'm afraid I hurt 
some of them shockingly. They never winced. 
It's so hard to find words ' 

'' There are no words,*" said the other, " that 
meet the case." He paused to measure a shell- 
hole* in the engine-room casing ; the clang of 
metal en metal came up from the silent depths 
of the ship. " What about your prisoners ? " 

" The Captain's in my harbour cabin — what's 
left of it. Pretty sulky customer. The rest 
are forward under guard. They're more com- 
municative than the last lot and jolly glad to 
get out of submarines for the rest of the war."' 

A gust of laughter floated aft from the fore- 
castle and the sound of men's voices singing. A' 
door opened somewhere and the words of the 
song came plain through the night : — 

" When you come to the end of a perfect day." 

The Commander smiled as a father smiles on 
the threshold of his children's nursery. " That's 
the wounded, sir. First Lieutenant's got the rest 
forward, working cables." A figure came to- 
wards them out of the darkness with bandages 
glimmering white about his head. He was 
humming the refrain of the forecastle song and 
broke off abruptly as he recognised the two 
figures by the casing. 

M The hospital boat is coming alongside now," 
said the stranger. " I'd like to speak to the 
wounded before they leave the ship." 
VoL !*-«. 

" Aye, aye. sir ! " The other led the way 
forward and as they stepped into the dimly- 
lighted forecastle the singing wavered and died 
away to a sudden silence. The narrow space 
was partly blocked by hammocks slung from 
the beams overhead, and illumined by a few 
swinging lanterns and candles guttering on the 
broken mess-tables. Evidences of the ordeal 
the ship had undergone were apparent on all 
sides in blackened paintwork and ragged shell- 
holes in the deck and ship's side. Men sat 
about smoking and nursing bandaged limbs, or 
lay motionless with their eyes full of suffering 
turned" towards the newrcomers ; a few ross 
unsteadily to their feet, and the stranger 
motioned them with a gesture to sit down 

" If England knew," he said, in his clear, 
deliberate tones, " England could tell you men 
what she thinks of you. Unfortunately, I am 
the only person at present that knows." He 
paused, and surveyed them in the uncertain light, 
which nevertheless served to illumine 'the con- 
sciousness of victory in each drawn face. " And 
I'm — proud of you ! " 

They cheered the spare, upright figure as he 
stood amid the wreckage and pools of water as 
only men can' cheer who have fought a good 
fight to a clean finish. • As the last gust died 
away, feet shuffled on the iron plating behind 
the speaker, and the stretcher-bearers entered. 
From further aft along the upper deck came a 
hoarse word of command and the clatter of steel, 
as the unseen prisoners' escort^fixed bayonets. 
The visitor turned to the Commander and 
walked slowly aft. 

" Now," he said, " I'll have your report." 

Half an hour later the visitor departed. At 
the gangway he paused. " I'll send my barge 
back for you," he said. " You'll want to get 
ashore. I sent to tell your wife you were 
coming in." He smiled his dour smile. " When 
did you get your last sleep ? " 

The younger man thought gravely for a 
moment. " I don't remember, sir. What's 
to-day ? Thursday ? " He smiled. " Monday, 
sir, I think it was. . . . Thanks awfully for the 
barge, sir. I'll go ashore when I've seen the 
ship all right for the night." 


The tiny cottage-parlour was flooded with sun- 
shine : through the open window the throaty 
bubbling song of a thrush poured like a cascade 
from among the blossoms of an apple-tree that 
came near to thrusting inquisitive lower branches 
into the room. The Commander sat at the 
breakfast-table chipping the top off an egg ; 
opposite him stood a girl, her brows knitted in 
the preoccupation of coffee-making. At his 
left hand, perched in a high chair, sat a smaller 
edition of himself, with a bib under his chin, 
watching the decapitation of the egg with intent 

" What did the White Queen say ? " asked 
the Commander, I f rnrn 





" f Off wiv his 'ead h h ** came the- reply, 
promptly, in rich tones of anticipation, 
r ' ' Head/ darling/' protested the coffee- maker, 
without raising her eyes from her task* 

'* Never mind, John Willie 1 ' said his father, 
** Let's cut the cackle and get to the osses. 
He extended the top of the brown egg to his 
son and heir, who gravely accepted it and delved 
into its white and gold with an un wieldly 

.'' Welt ? " said his father. 

4i Fank you/* said John Willie, absent- 

'■ Eat your porridge" retorted his father. 
1 Once upon a time there was a little boy who 
played with his breakfast h 

u I*U speak to cook/' said the mother, in a 
low voice. 

' An' cook said " 

" Never mind what cook said. Just you 
listen to my story. The little boys iuuramie 
took him to see the White Queen. Know what 
she said ? J> 

"Off wiv ,r * 

A shadow darkened the sunlight and the 


mindedly. He finished the egg's head and 
passed on to the more serious business of porridge 
in a blue-and -white bowl, "Can I go to see 
daddy's ship 'smoming ? " he queried, presently, 
A tiny shadow passed across his mother' s eyes 
and was gone again. For nearly a week she had 
been able to forget that ship. 

She looked at her first-born across the table 
and smiled* " What d h you want to see ? " she 

" BJug." said John Willie, calmly. 

His father raised his eyebrows, " The deuce 
you do I How d 'you know there's blood there ? " 

" Cook told Nannie," said the child. " She 
fcaid ve scuppers must have been full wiv it. 
What's scuppers ? " 

by Google 

head and shoulders of the telegraph -girl passed 
the open window, 

" Hi I Here you are, Janet 1 " shouted the 
Commander, He rose up from his chair, 
thrusting a long arm out of the window and took 
the oran^e-hued envelope from the girl's hand. 
Slowly and deliberately he selected a knife and 
slit the envelope ; there was silence in the 
little room t and the clock on the mantelpiece 
punctuated it with even, unhurried ticks. " No 
answer/' he called over his shoulder* refolded 
the message, and put it in his pocket ; then 
he held out his cup to be replenished. 

His wife filled the cup and looked at him 
across the Rowers and china. But her husband 
had slipped into onr of his musing silences, and 




sat with knitted brows, dramming pis fingers 
on the white cloth. She knew only too well 
those imperturbable abstractions, and the futility 
of asking questions. She was one of those women 
who had learned to wait as men rarely learn any 

The meal finished and the Commander rose, 
filling a pipe. 

M Lemme strike your match," said his son. 

" He'll burn his fingers/' said his mother. 

" Yes," said the man. " That's the only way 
he'll ever learn to respect matches." He held 
out the box : the match was duly struck . and 
the pipe lit without catastrophe. When .the 
pipe was drawing properly he turned and watched 
his wife*s profile as she moved about the homely 
disorder of the breakfast-table. His eyes were 
full of a great tenderness. 

" Like to run up to town to-morrow ? " he 
said, casually. 

She turned swiftly. " London ! " she ex- 
claimed. " Oh, Bill I Rather extravagant, isn't 
it ? " 

" Urn ! . . . No, I don't think so. I've got 
to go — on duty. You'd better come too. It's 
-only tor the day. We might lunch somewhere 
where there's a band — buy a hat, p'r'aps." 

" Me. too ! " said John Willie. 

" Once upon a time," said his father, " I was 
in a ship where there was a man who said ' Me, 
too/ every time anyone ordered a drink." 

" Was he a firsty man ? " 

" Very. There were twenty-three people in 
the mess, consequently he drank twenty-three 
times more than ho ought to.' 

" Ven what happened ? " 

" He was attacked by pink rats " and blue 
spiders and piebald snakes." 

" Did vey bite him ? " 

" Something frightful. He never said ' Me, 
too/ again." 

The girl turned from contemplation of . the 
sunlit garden, the tip of her slim forefinger 
between her teeth as was her habit when deep in 

"BiH! Don't be awful I Do you think that 
grey dress looks nice enough ? We needn't go 
anywhere really smart, need we?" 

The man put his pipe down on the mantel- 
piece, and crossing the little room took her face 
between his hard hands. Three times he kissed 
her : once on the forehead, once on the mouth, 
and once on the tip of her pretty nose. " Any- 
thiiig's good enough," he said, and his voice 
vibrated on a note she rarely heard. Then, 
abruptly, he released her and turned to his 

" Now then, John Willie, come on outside ! 
I'm going to bowl to you, and if you don't keep 
a straight bat you shall never come on board 
Daddy's ship again/' 


The taxi jolted up the cobbled gradient that led 
out of the gloom of the great terminus, and 
slipped into the traffic that flowed east and 
west along the sunlit thoroughfare. 


" Oh, look at it all," said the Commander's 
wife. " What fun, what fun ! Why does 
everybody look as if they were having a holiday, 
too ? Look at the rosettes on the horses' 
blinkers and the flowers — Bill, look- at the 

flowers " she sighed, luxuriously. " Oh, 

how nice all these commonplace things are 1 " 
Her hand stole inside her husband's. * ' r Can 
. they see us, d'you think ? " 

44 They never used to," replied the man. He 
watched her animated smiling face as she glanced 
delightedly about her at the familiar shops and 
women's frocks and all the gay tide of London 
setting to and fro. Her eyes softened. 

" It's like old times, isn;t it," she said. " The 
pair of us philandering in a taxi — and the tup- 
pences ticking up — are we really going to buy 
a hat ? " 

" Not yet," he glanced at his wrist-watch. 
" No time now. I've got an appointment at 

She gave his hand a little squeeze. " Tell 
me where we're going." 

" I told you. My outfitter." . 

" I know : but after that." 

" Then I've got to— to pay a call. You'll 
have to wait. Then " 

" Who are you going to call on ? " 

"A man." 

" Anyone I know ? " 

" Well " her husband threw back his head 

and chuckled delightedly. " Not to speak to ■" 

She shook him by the sleeve. " Don't be 
silly and mysterious. Is he a naval officer ? " 

" Er. yes." 

" At the Admiralty ? " 

" Down in that direction." The cab slowed . 
and pulled up. * " Wait," he said, and jumping 
out vanished between the swinging glass doors 
of the outfitter. A couple of minutes later he 
returned, carrying a sword and belt, resplendent 
in gilt and tassel. He stopped on the kerb, 
gave a low-voiced direction to the driver, and 
resumed his seat beside her. 

44 You haven't bought another sword ! " she 
gasped. " You've got one already." 

" Olo-piecee — too shabby. I've only bor- 
rowed this for the forenoon. You have to wear 
a sword to pay certain duty calls." 

Her ignorance of Service matters was profound, 
and he had always been content that it should 
be so. She gave a little sigh, like a child aban- 
doning a puzzle. The car turned into the Mall 
and the Commander leaned back in his seat 
adjusting the belt about his lean middle. The 
girl glanced over her shoulder. 

" Why," she exclaimed. " he's going away 
from the Admiralty ! Tell him, Bill, he's 
going wrong " 

" No, he isn't," said the man. He glanced at 
his watch. " Pam/' he said, and for the second 
time in her life she thought she detected a note 
of nervousness in his voice. " Pam, you'll have 
to sit in the taxi and wait. I shall only be 
about twenty minutes " 

" Twenty minutes ! " she echoed in dismay, 
and glanced at the taximeter. " But can't I 
-" Then fcV, toth suddenly dawned upon 





"her. The broad facade of Buckingham Palace 
loomed up before them and the car .slowed. 

" Oh ! " she gasped. ** You might have told 
me ! And one oi your cuffs is frayed ! That 
policeman is saluting you, Bill 1 Oh, my dear, 
my dear, I think I want to cry ! " 

" You mustn't cry here/' said her husband, 
fiercely. They had passed into the vast court- 
yard and had a glimpse of scarlet -coated foot- 
men behind the glass panels of a door. The 

Commander's wife 

** No, 1 ' she said* 
" of course not. But 
I wish I could corne 
with you." 

He gave her hand 
a quick squeeze and 
jumped out : as he 
turned to close the 
door their eyes met. 
' r Wait," he said, 
and passed from her 

Outside tlie railings, 
drawn up in an in- 
conspicuous spot by 
the kerb, oblivious to 
the inexorable ticking 
of the tuppences, she 
waited. Nearly haJ f 
an hour had elapsed 
before she saw him 
coming towards her, 
walking very quickly, 
holding his head high, 
rather pale under his 
sunburn. He gave the 
driver directions and 
jumped in beside her. She took a deep breath* 
" Oh, my dear— what ? " 

Her husband made no reply, but laid a little 
morocco leather case on her trembling knees* 
For a moment she fumbled at it blindly, her 
head bent low, Then she turned to him, 
smiling tremulously through a mist of tears, 
the little bronze symbol lying in the palm of her 

" My Man I " she whispered. " My Man I " 


(The Third r>f the Series.) 

A lengthy poem, not unknown to fame \ 
I own Tvo aiiifiT read it, all the same + 

1. Whatever happens, you muat keep it dry ; 
Damp it, and you will know the reawn why. 

2 t Almost all maickn* love the looking-glass, 
But through a mirror only one t'otild [k&fitf. 

3. Eurile&s, without beginning, what ift this ! 
To pigs distasteful, hut to women hliss. 

4. Here comen a girl T not ono of any fame ; 
But read her backwards, and she \b the eamc. 

5. From Italy was this comber sprung ; 
He'll live as long a« operas arc Rung. 

6. A famous dramatist* but neither Eomtf 

Nor Greece nor England gave him hi* first home. 

7. Home- of ft woman and her progeny, 
Close quartern, ton, fi>r stieh a family. 

R, Hither assemble bartb to celebrate 
The glorias of a country small yet prrat. 


by Google 

AnmxxTS to Acrostic jVo. r»l should he vddrt##td to the 
Acrostic Editor, The Stram> Magajj^e, Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, }Y,C\2, f and invtt arrive not fattt 
than hy the first <pmt on fitptitfibtr l()th* 

To uny or trery tight oitc alternative avt&tar jncry alto 
6e Ktii, and should te written at th* mis, At ike foot vf 
thr. answer every tohcr &honld *crit< his pstttdonym and 
nothing f}$f. 

Ahswer to No, 49, 

Amwvi to So. 50* 

L I o 


1. B 

as H 

2. p b e 1 i 


2. E 


3. V alou 


& A 

r is e ti a L 

4. E d w a r 


4. 8 

em I 

5. N ot 


E + I 

b1 an 

0, T a 


6. D 

B e n n A 

7. E 

n e m Y - 

The result of the 

eighth aeriei «& 

be publvHcd in 

neit month 1 * number. 

Original from 



"The Earth, is Made of Glass. 


Illustrated by Warwick Reynolds. 

OMMIT a crime, and the 
earth is made of glass.' " 
Bullivant quoted Emerson 
from memory. 

"A platitude prettily 
dressed," said Reeds, with 
a shrug. " True only of 
crimes of passion, of brain- 
storm. Your deep-planning, patient breaker of 
laws, your malefactor who commits crime by 
the book of arithmetic — as Tybalt, prince of 
cats, used to scratch a man to death — is aware 
of living in no such traasparency." * 

Bullivant went on : " ' Commit a crime, and 
it seems as if a coat of snow fell on the ground. 
You cannot recall the spoken word, you cannot 
wipe out the foot-track, you cannot draw up 
the ladder so as to leave no inlet or clue. Some 
damning circumstance always transpires.' " 

"And will," agreed Barton. "We see the 
truth of that in the most elaborately-conceived 
murder cases." 

Reeds persisted : " And why ? Because even 
if the killer has the cold blood of a fish and acts 
with the logic of a senior wrangler, he yet, in 
eleven cases out of twelve, sets to his grim 
work in some conventional fashion that finally 
gives him away. The will to strike he Jias ; 
ability to wait and plan may also be his. But 
that is not enough. He needs imagination, the 
artistic temperament " 

A laugh broke from the group of men in the 
club smoking-room. 

"A perfectly correct statement, gentlemen," 
interrupted a quiet voice. " Such a combination, 
harmoniously applied, will baffle any criminal 
investigation department in the world." 

All eyes sought the man who spoke as if his 
word was law. 

" Be careful, Shasta," laughed Bullivant. 

The broad-faced, fat-faced American stared at 
the other with the keen, hard look of his race. 
He grunted : " What do you mean, be careful ? " 
- " Why, you speak with the quiet, the assured 
authority of the man who knows." 

The other uncrossed his bulky thighs. He 
leaned forward, looking at his inordinately-long 
cigar, which he turned round and round with 
Ms plump, well-manicured fingers. A continued 
ilence suggested a certain tension in the 

" Yes, I know," said Shasta. He leaned back 
again and regarded his audience through narrowed 

" Let us watch our steps." pushed in Reeds. 

Do you mean to affirm, Shasta, that you have 

Copyright, 19 iB, by 

personal knowledge of an instance of one who 
deliberately took a human life after having 
absolutely safeguarded himself against discovery ? " 

" That is what I did. 

" You ? " 

" I." 

Reeds pushed back his chair. Re looked to 
right and left, but no one took any notice of 
him. Shasta bore the intense, focused con- 
centration by stonily staring through the grey 
drift from his cigar. 

" Within five minutes' walk from Leicester 
Square," said he, with incisive deliberation, 
" there's an hotel where a visitor was found 
dead in his room, between three and four years 
ago. I don't mean to tell you the jaame of 
the hotel, and I'll call the visitor just Ferrars. 
IJe was murdered. I murdered him. I meant 
to do* it, and I meant to beat the police. I 
succeeded. I don't mind telling you. If you 
feel inclined to bring it home to me you won't 
be able, and, anyhow, I'm going back to the 
States for good in a week or two." 

He flung off the statement with a serene 
indifference. For a- minute he was silent, 
gathering memories together, then went on* 
abruptly : — 

" In the middle of a strip of garden was an 
ash, a weeping-ash tree, and in the beds, behind 
the palings mignonette ancl Virginia stock. 
Beyond that were the backs of houses. The 
sound of a beautifully-toned piano came from 
one of them. Someone was improvising on a 
song by Compardin. It was a little curious 
my hearing that song again — then. I had heard 
it before in an underground den in Montmartre, 
below a tripe-dresser's shop, I had gone into 
that hell to watch Ferrars. And now I was 
watching him again. For the flower-bed was 
opposite my room in the hotel, and Ferrars's 
room was next to mine. A wrought-iron 
balcony was outside my window, and it extended 
right along that side of the hotel. 

" I watched, one by one, the lights in the 
houses go out. I had switched off mine an 
hour ago. Glass doors opened on to the balcony, 
and I sat there, half inside, half outside, smoking 
and waiting, in the dark. The resonant rumble 
of the West-end night traffic became fainter and 
fainter, and a sound to which I had been listening 
for a long while became more audible. 

" It was made by my neighbour pacing up 
and down in the next room, occasionally pushing 
chairs about, and muttering to himself in his 

" The heavy boom of your big Westminster 





clock droned over the house-tops, and I got 
up and stepped on to the balcony. Four steps 
took me outside my neighbour's room, He 
had his glass door open, too, but the line a blind 
was pulled right down", I stood there for a 
minute or two, feeling my mental pulses, making 
sure of my nerve. The 1 ' bowed head of the 
weeping ash rocked in the Strong breeze, tossing 
its streaming hair, and the pianist in the house 
opposite suddenly com me need that song which 
begins, ' My love, this is the bitterest, that 
thou * 

" I pushed the linen blind aside and stepped 
nto the room. 

" A man was sitting there a-straddle on a 
chair, his arms on the back of it and his forehead 

Digitized by OOOQle 

on his arms. He 
did not hear me, 
and I called out, 
peremptoril% r : 

11 * Ferrars ! ' 

" He jumped 
up and spun 
round with a 
half - cry that 
showed his 
nerves all on 
edge. He had 
a sodden white 
face, a gnawed 
moustache, dis- 
hevelled hair, 
and a look gen- 
erally of a man 
who lives with 
the devil at his 
elbow. His lip 
curled uglily as 
he saw me. 

" 'Shasta!* 
he snapped. 

" I turned and 
closed the 
Fren ch w indo ws. 

" ' Look here, 
you/ he blurted, 
savagely. ' this 
is damned un- 
isn't it ? P 

"'Most/ I 
admitted. 'I 
wanted a pri- 
vate interview 
with you, and I 
chose my own 
way of making 
sure of it. Of 
course, yo u 
didn't know I 
was in the hotel. 
I arrived this 
afternoon, I 
came because 
you are here. I 
have something 
very particular 
to say to you/ 
M ■ Curse me if I see why I should listen to 

it. though, ' he snarled, * What sort of right ? ' 

" ' Be easy/ I soothed. ' It is quite on the 
cards that you are entertaining an angel unawares. 
You welcome me with a curse ; you may dismiss 
me with the reverse of that. I'm not here with 
empty words. I don't go to any man w r ith 
such idle things. least of all to you* I've been 
making inquiries about you, Ferrars. You have 
about touched the rock- bottom of desperate 
circumstances, I know* all about that, and 
more-— far more than that* As a matter of 
fact. I have been watching you, more or less, 
ever since you destroyed the happiness of the 
one woman for whom 1 cared. Cared ? ' The 
repeated word broke from me without volition, 




broke in sweeping storm of agonised memory 
and derelict love, A white flame passed over 
my eyes, and Ferrars started back violently, 
snatching up a chair under the impression 1 
was about to attack him. 

" The next moment I was myself again, 

41 ' Put that down, 1 I commanded. f I had 
to hint at that matter, and you know her name- 
But I shall not mention it, for even the utterance 
of her name would be soiled by your detested 
presence. Nor will you speak it, or MI tear your 
windpipe out I J 

" He sneered : ' Nice language ! I knew ths 
shoe pinched you there* You've been watching 
me, have you ? I hope you enjoyed the game. 
Oh, I'm not afraid of you, Shasta ! ' 

" ' That's a lie ! J I retorted. ' A man lite 
you is afraid of every decent -spoken, every clean- 
living, man he meets* Yes, I have kept you in 
view, though the process was pretty sickening 
at times. My idea ? 1 was waiting to see justice 
take you up and rend you. Time and again it 
seemed to have you, but you always managed 
to give it the slip. I wanted to see the end of 
you, if only to prove that God is. Then came 
the war. You are of an age for military service, 
and J thought you would escape my observation 
by being swallowed up in the Army, But you 
were not found fit, Then I grew tired. This 
chase of you is eating up my time, taking too 
much of my life, I decided to push matters, 
I decided to deal with you rny%elf.' 

p * Keeping an eye on me, he 
back, sliding out a hand towards the electric 

" 'I have come 
to you with an 
offer/ I con- 
tinued, taking a 
chair. ' It is a 
remarkable pro- 
position ; it is 
a. startling one ; 
but I do not 
think you will 
decline it. I have 
learned that 
your debts cer- 
tainly total to 
well over a 
pounds. Twice 
that figure is 
probably nearer 
the mark. You 
are ruined, Fer- 
rans. More + I 
have a shrewd 
inkling that des- 
peration in these 
matters has 
taken you a step 
too far/ 

" He flashed 
in : ' What do 
you mean by 
that, you infer- 
nal spy ? ' 

" ' We will let the point slide/ I waved him 
down. ' The whole thing amounts to this — 
that you would probably sell what is left of 
your shrivelled soul for a good round sum oi 
money* What would five thousand pounds 
mean to you just now, Ferrari ? Well, I am 
going to offer you ten thousand/ 

" He stared at me just as I thought he would, 
with dropped jaw and amazed eyes, 

" I continued : ' What have you got in that 
table-drawer ? A pistol ? ' 

"Ml made a movement to look he thrust the 
partly-open drawer in with violence. 

" ' That means, probably, that you have/ I 
went on, resuming my chair, ' A man doesn't 
walk .i bout his room at a late hour, muttering 
to himself, unless he is considerably agitated, 
and you are more than that, I believe you had 
a thought of taking a short cut out from your 
troubles. But you wouldn't have done it. Not 
yet. at any rate. You are too deep a coward. 
Ferrars. And yet that you will end that way 
is quite likely ; only that you will put it off too 
long for me/ 

" He blurted with assumed ferocity : ' Come 
to the point, or get out ! ' 

4t " I will come to the point/ I answered him, 
steadily. ' I offer you ten thousand pounds. 



r I fprramCtfTttt m . 



The largeness of the sum will 
not surprise you, for I have as 
many millions — in -, dollars. But 
there is a condition attached, as 
you will readily imagine. Ndw, 
watch me carefully,' 

* In the middle 
of the room was 
a small table, 
bearing a half- 
emptied bottle 
of whisky, a 
siphon of soda- 
water, and 
glasses. I se- 
lected two of 
the g 1 a s s e s — 
tumblers. Into 
these I poured 
soda * w a t e r 
about a third of 
their length — 
just the same 
quantity in each 
one. From my 
wa is tcoat- 
pocket I drew 
a folded piece of 
white paper, 

" * Watch me 
very carefully in- 
deed.' I insisted. 

" Into one of 
the glasses I 
shook out a very 
small quantity 
of the white 
powder which 

was in the paper. I then refolded the paper 
and dropped it into the remains of the fire 
in the grate. I placed both glasses side by 
side, and looked at Ferrars, who was regarding 
me with an expression of mingled stupefac- 
tion and fear. I said, speaking with intense 
deliberation : — 

" ' One of those glasses contains harmless 
soda-water : this one. Into the other I have 
dropped a sufficient quantity of poison to kill 
three men. At present you know which is 
w T hich, I suggest that you turn your back 
upon me while I place both glasses upon the 
mantelpiece, When you see them again you 
will not know which contains the harmless fluid, 
and which holds — death, A death, by the way, 
which is swift and certain. You will advance, 
take up which glass you Like, and drink of! the 
contents. If you are unlucky in your choice 
you will know what to expect. On the other 
hand, if yon are fortunate, you will not only 
survive the ordeal but you shall have the sum 
I mentioned. You will have life — and ten 
thousand pounds/ 

cr A rush of blood streamed over his face, 
then ebbed suddenly, leaving him frightfully pale. 
He opened his lips to speak, but seemed incapable 
of utterance- I went on : — 

" * Considering your circumstances, and con- 
sidering that you have already entertained the 



most desperate ideas, you will probably conclude 
that this is a risk worth the running/ 

" He burst out : ' You cold -blooded swine ! * 

" * Only let me emphasize two points/ T 
continued, earnestly, ' First, that the unlucky 
glass is terribly swift in its effects ; second, that 
the circumstances of this adventure will scarcely 
permit me to stop here, in this room, in a fruitless 
endeavour to procure you assistance. That 
would be awkward for me- I do not choose, 
naturally, that my participation in the affair 
shall be known/ 

if ' Vou hell -hound I r he exclaimed. 

M ' Names are beside the point/ I reproved. 
f The question is — do you accept ? ' 

" * Yes, and while my back is turned you will 
poison the other glass,' he snarled. 

1 Vou saw me throw away the rest of it/ 

'* ' And you have more on you ! ' he flashed. 

" ' You are at liberty to search me thoroughly/ 

" He uttered a frightful laugh. ' And what 
guarantee have I that you will pay up ? ' he 

M ' I can place bank-notes to the value of half 
the sum on this table— now/ I answered, taking 
the in from a wallet, ' The rest you shall have, 
I promise you. I have a certain reputation for 
abiding by my word, which is not unknown to 
you. Oh, you shall be fully paid. Have no 
fear in thatiififffl^ I from 






* He went up to the glasses and stared into- 
them a long while without speaking a word. 

" ' Ten thousand pounds, J I repeated, 

" He looked at me sideways in a queer fashion. 
In his throat a pulse was beating wildly. ' I 
owe more money than you think/ he muttered, 
uneasily. ' Then I have to get out of a certain 
scrape at which you hinted. I shouldn't be so 
weU off, even if I had the luck of the thing/ 
' Fifteen thousand pounds/ I answered, 

" He drew a long, a deep breath. I felt sure 
he would accept if he could screw up his nerve 
to it. He had the will to make that fling of the 
dice if he could make it before his remains of 
pluck ebbed from his finger-ends. He would 
have been wise to have acted promptly. As it 
was ( sheer funk began to sweat out from his 
I "alms and pallid forehead. He wiped them 
and took a turn up and down the carpet* His 
voice, with a strained, a high- pitched note, 
called to me : * You can place the glasses as 
you said, but that doesn't bind me to act. mind 

" * Q§ course not/ I answered, coolly. He 
had stopped at the door-corner of the room, 
staring at the varnished panels. I took up the 
glasses and set them upon the mantelpiece. 
I called out : f It is all arranged.' 

He turned on his heel, advanced three paces, 
and stood looking at the tumblers just as he 

might have regarded the levelled 
barrel of a duellist's pistol. For 
a moment his eyes left them to 
seek mine ; then he came straight 
forward, lifted one of the glasses, 
and put the edge to his lips. I 
Ih'mhI it dick against his teeth in 
his trembling grasp. He threw 
back his head and tossed off the 
liquid at a single 
gulp. He threw the 
^lass aside and looked 
at mc — seeking my 
verdict, I admit that 
the expression in his 
eyes haunted me for 
long afterwards. It 
seemed to me that 
his dilated pupils 
blazed with a wild 
ight. My answer 
was prompt. I took 
p the* second glass 
and drained it. The 
action was eloquent 
enough ; there 'was 
no need for me to 
tell him by word 
that he was doomed. 
" Still he kept his 
eyes fixed on mine* 
For a matter of 
ten or twelve 
seconds he 
balanced him* 
self with diffi- 
culty* swaying 
from side to 
side. I leaped forward to catch him, but I was 
too late. He went over sideways, dragging the 
cover from the table in his dying grip/' 

The narrator paused. There "was a sensation 
amongst his audience which made him quickly 
continue - — 

" Understand, gentlemen, this man I called 
Ferrars was one of those degenerates who are 
not tit to live. The very crust of the scum of the 

No one answered him ; no one spoke. 

" And if you knew of the wrong he had done 

to the best woman in the world But you 

won't know, lam going to keep that to myself." 
At this point Reeds broke in, "But, see here, 
Shasta." he urged, agitatedly ; Hl this is no clear 
case of killing, It isn't precisely what — what 
we were talking about. It seems to me that 
Ferrars did himself in, It was more in the 
nature of a duel. You gave him a chance." 

" There's a point I have yet to mention," 
answered Shasta, gratingly, harshly, " I said 
that Ferrars was found unfit for military service. 
I found out why. He had advanced valvular 
disease of the heart. His own doctor told me he 
was living on the edge of a precipice. God 
judge me for it — -I pushed him over. One of 
those glasses contained pure soda-water ; the 
other, soda-water — and a grain of common 
chalk I " 



A Simple ^Vay of Acquiring a Splendid 



Illustrated by G. Henry Evison. 

O remember & list of thirty 

articles, compiled and read 

out by my audience, has been 

one of the " tricks " in ray 

repertoire for many years. This 

" memory feat/' as it has come 

to be called, usually excites far 

more wonder than any trick or 

illusion I present ; yet there is no " trick " 

about it. The feat is exactly what I describe it 

to be — a feat of memory. 

The idea of including this feat of memory 
in a series of conjuring tricks is mine. I saw 
a professor of memory doing it in Vienna many 
years ago, and thought what a good thing it 
would be for my performance. I went home, 
learned how to do it, and had the pleasure of 
being the first entertainer to present it in this 

To an audience it seems particularly mar- 
vellous, but the secret of " how it is done," like 
the secret of every very good trick, is quite 
simple. Anyone possessed of a brain that works 
fairly quickly can do it with a little practice. 

All that the performer has to do is to form a 
series of mental pictures. A part of each picture 
is already in his mind, placed there in a way 
which I will explain presently. The rest of the 
picture is completed by the audience. 

To begin with, the performer must think of 
some person, place, or thing which is to represent 
each number from one to thirty. It is not 
difficult to do this. The best list is the one which 
the performer compiles for himself, because he 
will probably remember it with very little effort. 
However, since I am writing for amateur per- 
formers, I will give a few hints on making a 
suitable list. 

Number one. A man who thinks too much 

of " Number One " is a man who thinks too 

much of himself. Let " one " stand for yourself. 

Number two. If you think of the saying 

"Two's company/' etc., then number two will 

Digitized by G< 

always suggest in your mind a picture of a young 

Number three. The entrance to a pawn* 
broker's shop, with the familiar sign of the three 
brass balls over it, suggests the mind-picture -foi 
number three. 

Number four. A square has four sides. Let 
any square in your neighbourhood stand for 

Number five. This. suggests a "Nap hand/* 
Form a mental picture of players at the card- 
table, with one man winning "Nap," and you 
will always remember five. 

Continue making out your list in this way 
until you have a mental picture for each number; 
It does not matter what the pictures are so 
long as you can remember them easily and can 
call up each one before your mental vision 
directly you hear the number named. The 
suggestions I have given may not appeal ta 
you ; in that case make others for yourself. 
However, just to give you a few more hints I 
may say that " seven " always suggests a river 
to me (because of the river Severn) ; " ten " is 
the tent in my garden ; " twelve " stands for a 
picture of the twelve apostles ; " thirteen," being 
the unlucky number, stands for a horse-shoe ; 
when anyone says " seventeen " to me I think 
of a young girl (you must have heard of " sweet 
seventeen "), and so on. 

Perhaps twenty-five of these mental pictures 
will be enough for you, an amateur, to start 
with. Having mastered the list, you have the 
material you require for the performance. 

Your audience make out a list of twenty-five 
articles and put a number to each article. The 
list is read out to you once. Directly each thin* 
is numbered and named you immediately connect 
it in your mind with the picture corresponding 
to that number, and thus you complete the 
mind-picture. I can assure you that the menta 
picture you thus form will not fade from youj 
memory for some considerable time. 






For ex- 
ample, sup- 
pose the list 
is begun 
with v Num- 
ber one — A 
p o u a d of 
sausages.' 1 
You imme- 
diate J y re- 
call to your 
mind that 
number one 
is yourself, 
and there- 
fore when the pound of sausages is read out for 
"one" on the list you form a mental picture of 
yourself sitting down to a meal of a pound of 
sausages* The thing can be done in a second. 
When the whole list is read out and you are 
ready to repeat each article written down by the 
audience you will 
ha ve no d i ffic u 1 It y t 
when you begin, 
in thinking of 
" Number one — 
A pound of sau- 
sages." The men- 
tal picture you* 
formed of your- 
self trying to eat 
a whole pound of 
sausages will do 
the trick for you. 

Number two in 
your stock of 
mental pictures is 
a young couple. 
Suppose that 
number two in the" list made out by your 
audience is "A cure for indigestion/' You 
immediately compose a mental picture of a gal- 
lant young man offering a beautiful young lady 
a bumper of any of the well-known dt cures for 
indigestion/' and that mind- picture will stay with 
you. You can put it away at once and go on 

to number 
three, and 
rest assured 
that when 
anyone asks 
you after- 
wards/ 1 What 
is number 
two ? " your 
mind will re- 
call the pic- 
ture of the 
young man 
trying to dose 
the young 
lady with a 
patent medi- 
cine, and you 
will reply, "A 
cure for indi- 
gestion/* (2.) 

Number three in our stock of mental pictures 
is a pawnbroker's shop. We will suppose that 
the audience have written against number three 
in their list " An elephant/' It is an easy matter 
to picture to yourself an elephant trying to 
squeeze his way into a pawnbroker's shop, and 
thus, when you have to repeat the list written 
down and called out by the audience, you will 
have no difficulty in remembering what number 
three was. (3) 

Number four in my list of suggestions for 
mental pictures was a square. This is a particu- 
larly good mental picture — a clear open space 
of grass. No matter what number four in the 
audience's list is, you can easily picture it 
standing in the centre of the square. A lady, 
thinking to give me something very difficult 
for number four, once wrote down, ,E A copper 
with the fire alight and the copper full of 
washing/' It was quite an easy matter to 
form a mind-picture of the copper standing, all 
alone, in the centre of Regent's Park (near 
which J was then living}. (4,) As you see, I have 
never forgotten it, although I have done the 
memory -feat hundreds of times since then. 

rv. , 1 


The more the audience try to bother you by 
WTiting down rare things or absurd things, the 
easier your task of remembering ; but to the 
audience the feat will seem almost miraculous. 

Number five in our suggestions for a stock of 


i So 


mental pictures is a man winning " Nap/' 
Suppose that the audience call out, " Number 
five — A garden hose/' You immediately think 
of a small boy playing with the garden hose 
and turning it into the window of the room in 
which the card-players are seated. You thus 
have your mi ad-picture for number five. (5.) 

Number eight always suggests a piano to me, 
the octave being eight notes. If someone writes 
down, " Number eight — A cow/* you at once 
think of a cow sitting down in front of your 

piano and put- 
ting its fore feet 
on the keys. (8.) 
The necessary 
mind -picture is 
made at once, 

I have sug- 
gested that 
number ten 
should be repre- 
sented by 4i tent " 
in your mind— 
easily remem- 
bered. Let the 
audience write 
down what they 
will for number 
ten and you can 
easily connect 
it with a tent 
and form a mind- picture. When performing to 
soldier I nearly always have " a suit of 
civvies M (civilian clothes) given to me for at 
Jcast one number. If it is given for number 
ten, you can easily imagine a suit of clothes 
hung on the outside of a tent. (10.) In 
the same way number thirteen is a horseshoe- 
Suppose that the audience call out, " Number 
thirteen— A volume of Shakespeare/' An easy 
way of remembering this would Ire to form a 

^* r ^*™9wjj 

mind- picture of Shakespeare with an enormous 
horseshoe pin stuck into his coat. (13,) 

The more fantastic and absurd your mind- 
pictures, the more easily you will retain them in 
your memory, For example, number seventeen 
is a young girl. If the audience have written 
down *' butter" against their number seventeen 
you can form a mind -picture of a young girl 
eating a piece of bread and butter ; but you will 
get a much better mind-picture if you think of 

a young girl who 
has had a pat of 
butter thrown at 
her eye hy her 
young brother. 

Now, we will 
suppose that the 
audience have 
called out their 
list of articles to 
you. You impress 
upon them the 
fact that H you 
have heard the 
things only once. 
You then ask the 
audience to look 
at their list, and 
you recite the whole of it. Each mind -picture 
you have formed will be recalled by you directly 
you want it, I know that this seems incredible, 
but i can assure you that you can safely trust 
your brain to do the marvellous work for you. 
If you have formed your mind- pictures correctly 
the result will be that you can remember the 
whole list of twenty-five articles after you have 
heard them read out to you once. Moreover* 
it does not matter what order you say them in, 
for each mind -picture is independent of the 
others. It Looks very difficult to offer to say 
them backwards, beginning at twenty-five, but 
it fs just as easy to recall them in that order as 

by LiOOglC 

in the right order. Your mental effort ceases 
after you have formed each mind -picture. 

Another point. You can safely offer to 
remember the list when it is read out in any 
order. The audience need not begin with 
number one or finish with twenty-five. Yt 1 
can let them dodge you about in any way th« r 
please, and then you can repeat the list in tl y 
right order. This looks very difficult, but i t 
is not. 

Another point. If the audience do read th s 
list in irregular order, it is quite likely that, b/ 
accident or design, they will leave out a couphs 
of numbers. You, having no mind -pictures toe 
those numbers, can tell at once what numbe: 1 
have been omitted, and you name them, Yo t 




then get the credit for being extremely alert ; 
in fact, much cleverer than you really are ! 

By adapting this home-made system of memory 
you can easily remember the order of twenty-five 
cards aftpr you have seen them dealt slowly on 
t^he table. Having got your stock of mind- 
pictures for each number from one to twenty-five, 
you then have to prepare a mind-picture for 
each card in the pack, and you have to remember 
all of them. One way of preparing such a list 
is by letting all the cards of the hearts suit 
stand for things in a butcher's shop. The ace 
can be a bullock's heart ; the two of hearts can 
be the cashier flirting with the salesman ; the 
three of hearts can be a u block ornament M 
(the sort of thing that a poor woman who has 
pawned something would naturally buy) ; the 
four of hearts can be a steak (a 4t square " meal) ; 
and so on, until you get to the knave of hearts, 
which may be represented by the mind-picture 
of a wily butcher putting a piece of fat on the 
under-side of his scale. For the queen of hearts 
and king of hearts you can leave the butcher's 
shop and go, naturally enough, to Buckingham 

In the same' way you can form mind-pictures 
of the other suits. For clubs you go to any 
club and make up mind-pictures from things 
seen in it. A jeweller's shop will help yqn in 
the same way with diamonds, and a garden will 
do the trick for you with spades. 

This list of fifty-two things, one for each 
card, must be memorized perfectly, and the list 
you compose for yourself will be the one you 
can remember most easily. 

Now, the twenty-five cards are dealt slowly 
on the table* and as each one is put down you 
form a mind-picture composed of the " number-* 
picture " and the mind-picture representing the 
card. For example, number one -is yourself. If 
the first card is the two of hearts, you at once 
imagine yourself interrupting a flirtation between 
your butcher and his cashier in the desk. You 
will have no difliculty in remembering afterwards 
that the first card was the two of hearts. 

On paper this may seem to be very complicated, 
but in practice it is quite simple. In the old 
days, at the Egyptian Hall, I used to have a 
pack of cards dealt out. fkce downwards, in 
four rows on a large board resting' on an easel. 

Of course, while they were dealt out I used to 
remember the order of the pack. Then I would 
get someone from the audience to alter the 
positions of cards, and finish up by asking him 
to turn the cards over, when the audience saw 
that they were arranged numerically and in 
their suits. I soon gave this up as being too 
slow (or an ordinary audience. The " memory 
f^at," as I have described it, always provides 
plenty of fun in any audience. People are 
always amused by the list made and read out 
by the audience. I used to have my list made 
on cards, which I threw out to the audience — 
thirty of them, with a number on each card. 
After a time I found I was suspected of doing 
the trick by having the list whispered to me by 
someone in the wings, who was supposed to 
write down the things as the audience called 
them out. I was also suspected of doing the 
trick by having a large slate, with each thing 
written on it, pushed up "from beneath the stage 
just behind the footlights. To meet these 
objections I did the feat on the " run down," 
the little platform with steps to it leading from 
the auditorium to the stage. 

My memory feat has been of great assistance 
to me in private life, I can assure any man that, 
once he has compiled and memorized his list 
of mind-pictures for the numbers one to twenty- 
five, such a simple thing as his wife's shopping 
list will have no terrors for him — at least, so 
far as remembering the list goes ! As for my 
friends' telephone numbers, I simply cannot 
forget them. For example, if some man tells 
me that his number is 1385, I have only to 
think of myself going into a pawnbroker's shop 
to pawn my piano and finding the pawnbroker 
sitting down behind the counter playing a game 
of cards — and the thing is done ! That mind- 
picture remains with me and is instantly recalled 
directly I want it. Indeed, the great difficulty 
with me is to forget. When I was performing 
twice a day at the Egyptian Hall, with private 
performances in between,. I often did the memory 
feat three times in one day, and I occasionally 
found that my mind-pictures at the third attempt 
were blurred by the memory of the first two sets. 
But this difficulty is not likely to occur to any 
amateur conjurer, who is seldom asked to do 
the feat more than once a day. 





Described in detail for the first time. 


— — 







N ** ty Lifnn Doqie 

///usfrated 6f FGiffrtf. ft! 

LOUGHING is no longer the 
skilled occupation it used to 
l>e. The modern chill-plough 
demands neither knowledge nor 
strength. Its guiding - wheel 
measures off the furrow with a 
monotonous accuracy, and con- 
trols the depth of it to a fraction 
of an inch. Your chill -ploughed field is a depres- 
sing prospect of mechanical regularity. The 
personal touch is wanting. You may drive 
through Co. Down the whole of a spring day, 
and think the same ploughman has turned over 
every furrow you see. It was different in the 
days of the old swing-plough. Then a man 
could mark his individuality as clearly with 
the plough as with the pen. There was character 
in ploughing. The expert could recognize 
at a glance the style of any ploughman in his 
neighbourhood. Of any acknowledged crafts- 
man, that is \ the undistinguished mass of 
botchers merely turned over the earth ; they 
could not be said to plough. But the style of 
the masters was unmistakable. The respec- 
tive furrows of Tom Lennon and William Brown 
were no more to be confounded than is the blank 
verse of Shakespeare with that of Milton, Tom 
Lennons and William Browns there may stilt 
be among us, potential ploughmen great even 
as their fathers ; but their gift will never be 
revealed to them. A mechanical age has de- 
prived them of their birthright. They arc 
doomed to an accomplishment of flat medio- 
crity, and will go down to the grave without 
their meed of fame. 

It is true that ease has come to man and 
horse. The poet can no longer write of the 

Uy V.JJ * Copyright, igr&, by 

" swinkt " ploughman ; ** steaming "is no 
longer the fit adjective for his yoke* Tiur 
straining horses no longer vivify the landscape 
with energy embodied; they have sunk tJ 
mere prettiness as they amble across lea or 
stubble scarce heeding the trivial machine 
behind. Then, to guide the old swing-plough 
was a strong man's job* Every faculty was at 
strain during the arduous voyage from hedge 
to hedge, The instinctive eye might measure 
the due line, but every trick of horse-craft p 
every effort of muscle was needed to counteract 
the hundred influences that contended against 
a straight furrow. Nor was the struggle 
conducted in silence. From the moment when 
his sock- point entered the soil until he emerged 
sweating on the opposite head -rig the plough- 
man's voice never failed in a stream of admon- 
ishing, reproof, or encouragement to his striving 
team. " Get along, Johnny, get along with 
you — steady, Dobbin, steady I — good horses, 
good horses " — mingled with the technical 
ejaculations : * r Hup, hup, wind, wind," ad 
the team turned towards the furrow or away 
from it ; and all the time the ploughman's 
earth-clogged feet sought purchase on the uneven 
ground ( and his hands gripped tense on the 
shafts Ai his rocking plough* It cannot be denied 
that ease has come to the ploughman also. 

But while to his horses the change is perhaps 
all gain, the ploughman himself has paid a 
heavy price for it. He has lost interest in hi* 
calling since it was degraded to the mere mechan- 
ical. He no longer discusses his craft with hi* 
fellow-artists at -a four -roads or over a cottage- 
fire, or walks five miles on a Sunday, as I have 
known William Brown do, to view and criticize 
the acconi^dpp^tfrcrfina rival. No man U 




proud of his ploughing nowadays, or envies 

There is worse to come. One glory at least 
has survived the coming of the chill-plough — the 
,birds. The long line of rooks still stretches 
from the ploughman's heels, as if he were plough- 
ing birds out of the tarth ; the scolding sea- 
gulls^ still hover above the new-made furrow, 
a dazzle of beating wings. I loved the spring 
ploughing, and " mitched " from school many 
a spring day to follow the plough. I saw my 
Mother Earth in the rich brown -tilth as never 
in other aspects. In autumn I forgot the 
giver in the plenteousness of the gift. Then, 
too, I ioved the great cotton-wool clouds, a 
little soiled on the under surface in the early 
weeks, but bleaching to white purity as the 
season advanced ; T loved the gleam of sunlight 
on wet tree-bole in the borderkig copse; and 
rejoiced to mark the cold grey field- pools warm 
to azure. But most of all I loved the following 
birds whose tireless energy of beak and wing 
'mocked man's sedater bread- winning: I de- 
lighted in the clamour of their unending squabble 
for existence, the petulant scream of the sea- 
gull, the deeper expostulation of the rook, the 
jostlings for some fat worm, the preoccupied 
leap-frog, half vault, half flutter, as each bird 
strove to approach nearer to the ploughman's 
heels. My eye joyed in the metallic iridescence 
of blues and greens on a rook's back as he stalked 
from furrow to furrow with an embarrassed 
gravity, as if a bishop should walk on stilts, 
or the delicate poise of an alighting gull with 
upstretched fluttering wings and jtentative feet. 
. I lay aside my brief against the chill-plough. 
We are threatened by a greater evil. The 
motor-tractor is at our gates, noisy and noisome, 
and the ploughman's birds will soon follow him 
no more. 

I mean well by William Brown when I hope 
he has been delivered from the ^evil of tractors 
-to come. And if he has passed to a happier 
world, killed as I have little doubt by the chill- 
plough, I trust that, in another sense of the 
word, there is husbandry in heaven. For 
WHliam was a ploughman incarnate. Every 
impulse of his soul strove towards perfection 
in his craft ; all else was trivial to him ; as 
truly as he ploughed to live he lived but to plough. 
He used to say he would wish to die between 
the shafts ; but surely not that he might be 
transported to some region of ploughless bliss. 

It is no sarcasm to say that William did my 
uncle the honour of becoming his first ploughman 
lor several years ; for it was in William's power 
to confer honour on his master. The fame of 
his ploughing spread over two baronies. At 
ploughing matches he towered above farmers 
of a hundred acres and more. I used to trot 
at his heels at these festivals, partaker of his 
glory, and drank in the respectful asides of 
bystanders that " there was William Brown. 

Mr. W 's man." Our sideboard glittered 

with cups of William's winning, for in those 
feudal days the rnaster reaped where the man 
had strewn. Legends sprang up about his 
ploughing. He could juggle with his plough, 

men averred. The topmost ridge of his furrow 
— the " combing." as it was technically known 
— was said to be so sharp that it cut the feet 
of alighting birds ; and I am willing to believe 
it, though I cannot say I ever observed the phe- 
nomenon' myself. 

It is sad to think that such a ploughman 
should have died and left the" world no 
copy ; yet so it was. But it has been the 
fate of the great afrtist in all ages; the one 
master-passion occupies his soul to the exclusion 
of lesser affections; he must plough his lonely 
furrow.' Perhaps it is better so. No son of 
William Browji's begetting could' have driven 
a motor-tractor gladly. 

n. * 

Yet love knocked at William's heart once, 
and gained a partial entrance. Our servant- 
maid, Kate Keenan, wrought the mischief, 
a tall slip of a girl, scarce twenty, with dancing 
dark eyes, and a mass of purple-black hair 
always threatening to tumble down her back. 
There was a wild strain in Kate. She worked 
singing, idling by starts, then swooping at her 
task with a .whirlwind rush that accomplished 
wonders in a marvellously short time, but was 
very severe on delf. She was given to cheap 
finery, and became the prey of" every pedlar 
that unrolled his wares in our kitchen. In the 
most pressing necessity of stockings she would 
lay out her last coin on a showy hat* I have 
known her buy a diamond brooch— pedlar's 
diamonds — and black-lead her ' heels till the 
next month's wages fell due. And she was 
the only girl I ever saw play the Jew's harp. 
Why stolid William Brown should become- the 
sport of such a Venus it is hard to say ; but 
before she had been with us a fortnight it was 
observed that he was lingering portentously 
over his evening porridge, and that his subse- 
quent pipe was smoked by the kitchen fire 
instead of in the stable. He was never known 
to say anything to Kate during these sittings, 
and his intentions were in doubt for some weeks, 
till one evening he suddenly asked her if she 
would step as far as the top of the Whinny 
Hill with him before bed-time. There was 
great excitement in the farmstead over this 
unexpected move of William's, and the progress 
of the couple was watched by half-a-dozen pairs 
of eyes from various places of concealment, 
my aunt, to preserve her dignity, peering out 
of an upstairs bedroom window. I had become 
fairly skilled in such matters by this time of 
my life, and was a good deal disappointed to 
perceive on Kate's return that her hair was no 
more disordered than usual, which I thought 
a bad sign. I was not sufficiently intimate 
with Kate to question her on the subject, for 
she was a kindly soul, very fond of children, 
and prone to gusts of affection involving hugs 
and kissing, which caused me to hold her more 
aloof than any of our other maids. But my 
aunt could not contain her curiosity, and asked 
Kate if William had said anything. Kate told 
her he had not said anything either going or 
coming, but tlm't fussing through the haggard 




en the way back he had tried to put his arm 
round her, and she didn't permit him, because 
she thought there should be some conversation 
rirst. But William walked to the top of the 
Whinny Hill with Kate several times during 
the following week, and towards the end of the 
week had found his tongue a little, it would 
seem, for our yard -boy lay behind a hedge as 

I liked Kate very well, but she was too young 
and flighty for my taste, which at that time 
ran to the sober and mature among women- 
kind ; and I felt that if William knew as much 
about her as I did he would very likely be of 
my opinion. I could see quite plainly he knew 
little about the real Kate, for she was always 
\ery demure when he was in the kitchen : 

ShL - . 


they passed one evening, and heard him tell 
Kate that he had money saved. After this 
report got about, as the yard-boy took very good 
care it should, it was taken for granted on 
the farm that William and Kate would shortly 
be married* 

1 think it might have come to marrying 
between them, for William was a personable 
man, tall, fair-haired, and ruddy-cheeked, and 
though he was staid beyond his years, he was 
a. good-natured, likeable fellow. Then Kate 
was flattered by his attentions, He was a 
rising man. Already he received five pounds 
a year more than any ploughman in the district, 
and it was known that he was well into his 
second hundred of savings towards buying a 
farm. Besides, he had never been known to 
pay court to anyone before, and that in itself 
was a feather in Kate's cap. 

I wasn't quite satisfied on William's account. 
J admired him and looked up to him as to a 
man gifted above ordinary ploughmen J and 
I was by no means sure that he wasn't being 
taken in. 

Digitized by GoOQk* 

and thought at times it was my duty to enlighten 
him. In particular it was on my conscience 
that he should be told about the jew*s harp* 
But when I hinted my scruples to my aunt she 
was greatly disturbed, and told me that I must 
never interfere between lovers. It was a very 
wicked thing to do, she said, and no good ever 
came of it* I had never seen my aunt so moved 
before, ' All the same, she added, she would 
believe in the wedding when she saw it. 

But William the ploughman stood greatly 
in the way of William the lover, and in the end 
proved the undoing of him altogether. It came 
about in this manner : Like all good ploughmen, 
William was attached to his horses, and took 
great pride in their appearance. No better 
groomed or glossier pair than William's ever 
stepped before a plough # Their meals and toiJet 
were his charge alone. He would allow no 
meaner hand to minister to them. Above a*l 
his charges he was attached to our bay mare 
Betty. She was worthy of his love, a handsome „ 
doeiie creature, tight for a plough-horse P bur of 
a great heart, I have heard Wiliiam say in. 




an unwonted outburst of feeling that if he had 
Jietty in the lead he could plough with a New- 
foundland dog in the furrow. Nearly all his 
spare time went to burnishing her beautiful 
coat — a great deal more of it indeed than Kate 
approved of. 1 have seen Kate many a night 
stalking up and down the yard, stormy-faced, 
while William lingered in the stable to bestow 
a supererogatory touch of the curry-comb on 
her rival. 

But William went his pre -occupied way 
unconscious of her rising indignation. The 
great spring ploughing -match wag at hand. 
His name was inscribed twice in succession on 

the H Cup ; and three successive victories 

won it outright. That ploughing match was to 
dc William's Philippi, had he but known it* 
Yet Fate did her best for him, or perhaps it 
was the humbler divinity of Common-sense, 
hLc invited Kate to accompany him to the field 
and partake of the triumph of which none of 

To crown all her good -fortune, a pedlar 
visited our house on the eve of the great day. 
I remember Kate's sparkling eyes and flushed 
cheeks as she tried on one gew*gaw after another, 
a Marguerite of the kitchen. My aunt caught 
the infection in the end, and became nearly 
as excited as Kate, I think we all went a little 
mad that night. I know my aunt allowed 
Kate to mortgage two full months* wages ; 
and I. infected with Kate's recklessness, broke 
open my money -box, and bought myself a four- 
bladed knife. 

Only one treasure remained for Kate to 
covet, a matter of half-a-dozen yards of lilac 
ribbon, discovered when she had sunk far below 
bankruptcy, In vain Kate tried the effect 
of it in her hair, and on her bosom, and against 
her neck. In vain the pedlar dangled it My 
aunt hardened her heart, not indeed before it 
was time : and the lilac ribbon disappeared 
into the pack again, When the pedlar had 



us stood in any doubt. Such a joint expedition 
was tantamount to a public betrothal. Every 
grievance vanished from Kate's volatile mind 
at the prospect of parading her new dignity 
before the notables of the countryside, In 
a nightly canvass of her finery she forgot 
William nearly as completely as William in 
bis dream of fame forgot her. 

Vol. lvi-13. 


gone we spread the new finery on the kitchen 
table, and began to turn it over half-heartedly, 
There was something wanting, and we all knew 
it. We had sold the spirit of delight for half- 
a-dozen yards of lilac ribbon. Presently Kate 
bundled up her purchases and went off with 
them to her room. There was something 
disconsoiate'iiliiJiBifcriifrOlMy aun t stood looking 





after her a moment, then drew out 
her purse and handed me half-a- 
crown h remarking acidly that she 
was an old fool. I needed no 
further hint, but took to my heels* 
When I reached our farmyard gate 
to my surprise the pedlar was just 
passing out through it + I told him 
1 wished to buy the lilac ribbon. 
He answered that he was sorry, 
but he had sold it to one of the 
men -servants* When I questioned 
him I found it was to William 
Brown, and ran hastily back to the 
kitchen with the news, My aunt 
and Kate looked at each other for a 
moment H Oh, mem/' said Kate ; 
that was all ; but I wish William 
could have heard her. My aunt 
declared to her goodness she didn't 
think William had it in him, and 
straightway hunted me off to bed. 

I was very much disappointed 
and chagrined and fought off sleep 
till my aunts footsteps sounded on 
the stain But when I asked her 
if William had brought the ribbon 
to Kate she gave me no satis- 
faction, demanding quite sharply 
why I wasn't asleep hours ago, 
from which I concluded that he 
hadn't yet given Kate the ribbon. 
I had a dismal certainty that I 
should sleep late the next morning 
and miss the giving of the ribbon ; 
and I knew from old experience 
that on a morning of any special 
activity no one would awaken me* 
so that I shouJd be out of the way. 
And of course I did sleep late, so 
late that when I arrived downstairs 
it was almost time for William and 
Kate to start for the ploughing- 
match. Kate was dressed ready to 
po out ; but when I looked for the 
ribbon it was nowhere to be seen ; 
and when I began to question 
my aunt about it she was even 
shorter with mc than the night 

Nine o'clock struck, the hour at 
which William and Kate were to leave ; and there 
was no word of the ribbon. By this time Kate 
was half -crying, half-furious, and my aunt's atti- 
tude towards an inquisitive little boy was fairly 
insufferable. At last a knock came to the 
kitchen door. It was only the yard-boy to 
say William was ready. " You may go, Kate,'* 
said my aunt, declaring bitterly to her goodness 
and patience that men were bigger fools than 
she thought. Neither she nor I followed Kate 
out of the kitchen. 

It* scarcely seemed a moment till the door 
opened again, and Kate flung in, scarlet -faced 
and sobbing, She did not answer rny aunt's 
startled inquiry, but began to take off her hat. 
I could see that her hands were trembling. All 


*- ■"*. 


at once she flopped down on a chair, and laughed 
and laughed. 

" Oh, mem/' she said, " go and look ? " 
My aunt and I ran out. William Brown was 
standing between the handles of his plough, 
looking back towards the kitchen door in be- 
wilderment* My gaze travelled to his team. 
The bay mare's mane and tail were neatly 
plaited with lilac ribbon, 

Kate married Dick Murray, a former second 
ploughman of ours, who took service again in 
our neighbourhood about then, I was reminded 

of this story by looking at the H Cup not 

long ago, and seeing William Brown's name 

by Google 

inscribed on it three years in succession. 

Original from 



Here is 

another Confession Book. 



asked some 

of tkc 

best-known writers of 



— wno 


experts in 


of tke 

neart — to fill in tke 

answers to 


seven questions 

set out 



1. Whose love is strongest: 
a man's or a woman's ? 

Generally, a woman's, because love means more to 
her, and takes up a greater portion of her thoughts. 

2+ Should a woman show 
her love ? 

I believe that love begets love. The world is full 
of middle-aged and elderly women who are leading 
lonely, soured lives, because, at some crisis, great or 
small, in their youth, they hid their feelings from the 
man they loved, out of modesty, pique, pride, or 

Undoubtedly. Polygamists have assured us solemnly 
of the fact. The late Brigham Young may be cited 
as an example. I can remember a man who was 
held to be a devoted husband by two women, between 
whom he divided scrupulously his time, his money, 
and his affections. Each woman discovered the 
existence of the other after the death of the man ; and each testified to the love that he had inspired in her. 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time ? 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur ? 

Certainly. A famous General met his wife in the 
morning, married her that evening, and lived happily 
with her ; each was devoted to the other. Probably 
this mutual passion is excited even more frequently 
than is commonly supposed. 

5. Are love marriages the 

Emphatically. A loveless marriage at its best 
only be described as a business partnership. 


6. Can a plain woman be 

loved as much as a pretty 


Is any woman plain to the man who loves her ? Ugly 
women have inspired adoration time and time again. 

7. Can any love last for 
ever ? 

This is a hard nut to crack. It cannot be answered 
absolutely by finite man. Let us hope that love, in 
its imperishable essence, does bloom eternally. 
Spiritualists affirm this to be true. 

by Google 

Original from 

fc IM— rf I ■! 




There are all sorts of men and all sorts of women, and 
there can, therefore, be no Median rule in the matter ; 
but in the main woman's love is stronger because her 
love is born more of her emotions than of her brain. 
Therefore, when miserably mated, or about to be 

(provided that she loves truly), she will hold on stoutly where a man would switch off fearfully, and, regardless 

of probable suffering, she will take tremendous risks. 

1. Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's? 

2. Should a woman 
her love ? 


she must rely upon judgment, intuition — and obey the counsel of her heart ! 

To show her love to one man might be madness ; to 
another it might be wise to indicate a preference ; in 
the case of a third, to let him see that she cared for 
him — or, at least, could care for him — might be the 
only way to secure the happiness of two lives. Surely 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time ? 

Not to love, because love is such a very complete thing, 
made up of pity, protection, passion, admiration, etc. 
But to be attracted — strongly attracted — why,certainly ; 
and there is always the possibility of the " attraction " 
becoming love— and of the new expelling the old. 


Love at first sight — does 
it often occur? 

Never. But one may be conscious of a tendency and 
an inclination so strong that they demand im- 
mediately fanning by propinquity or promptly extin- 
guishing by flight. More people than would, perhaps, 
care to confess it run away, daily (taking refuge in 
what Thackeray delightfully calls the " alibi treatment "), conscious of a strong attraction, due probably to having 
encountered a highly sympathetic nature or a kindred spiritual make-up. Or — as Byron has it — from the striking 
of " the electric chain, wherewith we are darkly bound." 

5. Are 

love marriages 


Assuredly, if spiritual and not material development 
be the properest aim of mankind. It is far, far better 
to give — even to give unwisely— and to suffer, and. to 
be enriched by suffering, than to seek mere worldly 
advancement and gai n " comfort " and cancer of the soul. 

6. Can a plain woman be 

loved as much as a pretty 

one ? 

adorable " jolies, laides " / 

" Beauty is in the eye of the gazer." A witty friend oJ 
mine once said — or quoted — that " he never saw a 
plain woman till he was forty." This was probably 
excessive ; but for my own part I know of only one 
kind of really plain woman : to wit, the ungracious 
and hard. And have we not, every one of us, known 

7. Can any love last for 
ever ? 

What is often mistermed " lasting love " is frequently 
merely long habit ; but lasting love is possible, pro- 
vided (a) that the one party is so immensely superior 
in force and strength to the other as to feel great pro- 
tectiveness and tenderness, and to arouse for itself in 
the weaker something akin to worship ; or (b) provided that both parties are on the same intellectual and spiritual 
level — high or low — or very near it ; so that they never drift far apart ; or (r) provided — as sometimes happens — 
that both parties are so intensely vain and stupid as to remain in ecstasies with themselves and their doings for 
the remainder of their very narrow days. 






Shaking generally, a man's love is stronger than a 
woman's. Women are so intensely practical that 
few of them are ever " in love " as men are " in love." 
A man's love blinds and infatuates him ; a woman's 
seldom does. A man idealizes and adores the ideal. 
Woman, clearer-sighted, realizes, and has a calmer affection for the real. Men are sentimental, but few 
women are really sentimental. More husbands are in love with their wive? thas* are wives with husbands. 

J ■_■ I M-| 1 1 I '.1 1 ll'.UII 

Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's ? 

by LiGOglC 





2. Should a woman show 
her love ? 

Not to the full extent, if she is really in love. 
is only safe for a woman to simulate intense love. 


3. Is it possible to lov6 
more th*n one person at 
the same time? 

Yes. But not with the same kind of love ; and not 
with strong love. To love more than one person at 
a time usually means that each is only partially 
loved : loved for some quality only ; not taken as 
a whole and adored, faults' and alk Some people 
are only capable of loving partially : and many deserve 
only partial loving. 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur? 

Not often. But it does occur, and is usually real 
and lasting. Perhaps the romantic idea of it lends 
a fragrance that does not die. Men and women are 
incurably romantic, and an appeal to the romantic 
sense is a very strong appeal ; and a very tender 

Undoubtedly love marriages are the best. If the love 
lasts, the marriage is glorious. If it does not, husband 
and wife will have the experience and the memory 
of the great happiness as a bond between them. The 
aim of every human being should be towards a perfect 
love ; and though the realization of it may prove imperfect and impermanent, a marriage which is not at least 
animated by that ideal is a contract which may rob a man and woman of one of the best of life's experiences. ' 

5. Are love marriages the 

6. Can a plain woman be 
loved as much as a pretty 

Certainly she can. Sex-attraction is a mystery, 
though it can always be recognized in the possessor. 
A pretty woman can be totally without magnetism. 
A plain woman may possess it galore. It is not 
beauty so much as that mysterious " It " which 
gives a woman power over men. When the plain 

woman possesses " It " her lovers do not know she is plain ; and she never lets them know it. Perhaps no one 

really knows it save other women. 


7. Can any love last for 
ever ? 

Yes. But it happens rarely, on both sides. A 
woman is more likely to receive lasting love from her 
husband — if she is clever — than a man to receive it 
from his wife. The lasting reciprocal love of two people 
is, of course, the most beautiful thing on earth- 




1. Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's? 

Passionate love is strongest in a man. The love that 
endures is not stronger in a woman than in a man, 
but I think it is found more frequently amongst 
women than amongst men. 

2. Should a woman show 
her love ? 

Only in the hundred little ways in which she always 
shows it. For a woman to say to a man " I love 
you " would be detestable. I don't know exactly why. 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time? 

by Google 

No. Nor is it possible to love more than one person 
in the same lifetime. I am talking of love, not the 
passion that inspires boa-constrictors. 

Original from 



A. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur? 

that love at first sight occurs very often ; is the rule, in fact, not the exception. 

1 think the soul finds its mate instinctively and at 
once, though the fact may not be registered at once 
in the conscious mind. Then, again, the sort of love 
to which a young man's fancy turns in spring nearly 
always has its roots in first sight. Yes, I think 

5. Are love marriages the 

The man who marries a woman, or the woman who 
marries a man, urged to the act by any force other 
than that of love — even the most transient form ot 
love — is not a person to whom I would entrust my 
cheque-book. The tap-roots of morality lie in natural 
instincts, and the morality of a man or woman whose natural instincts show poor soil will not bear good fruit 
— and it is the partner in marriage that generally has to eat most of the fruit. Then, again — there seems always 
to be an " again " in marriage questions — marriages, the result of transient forms of love, very often lead to 
appalling disasters. Even so, love marriages are the best — infinitely the best. 

Love in its real form has nothing to do with facial 
angles or colours. I don't think I could love a 
scraggy woman with no chin, and I am perfectly 
certain I could never love a female Daniel Lambert, 
but that has nothing to do with the great fact that 
it is the woman one loves, not the face or form of the 
wcman. Men, as a rule, are the ugliest things on earth, yet women, somehow, love them ; there is something 
behind the face — call it mind or call it soul or what you will — that holds and grips ; this wanting, the 
prettiest face becomes a wearisome mask, and there seems to be some law that it generally is more or less 
wanting behind the prettiest face. On the whole, I think a plain woman can be loved as much as a pretty one — 
so long as her mind is not plain. 

I think real love is the only thing that does last 
for ever: satiety destroys desire, death destroys 
enmity, age kills ambition, and Time takes and breaks 
every one of our toys, but nothing touches love. Man 
cannot outgrow it, it seems to outgrow man, 
strengthening with the years, feeding on destruction and, most surely, blossoming beyond the grave. 

// «€*» 


cU vZ 



1. Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's ? 

If there is strength in unselfishness, then I believe a 
woman's love is stronger than a man's, save in 
exceptional cases ; and the question doesn't concern 
the exceptional cases. A man's love seems stronger 
than a woman's, but it breaks for less cause. How 
many men could go on loving a woman with the same passionate love, actually wishing to marry her, if she had 
been disfigured, or if her past suddenly gave up some unpleasing secret ? Yet most women would continue to 
love a man if he were maimed or lost his eyesight ; would even love him more, and long to show their worship 
by service. Nothing he had done in the past, if he had repented or atoned, could kill the love of loving women. 


That depends upon the character of the man she 
loves. If he is over-modest and shy, she might give 
him a dazzling glimpse of her heart, to encourage 
him — provided she has any reason to think that he is 
beginning to care for her. But if he has no lack of 
self-assertion and self-apprecintion, she would be wiser to let him find out what is in her heart without any help On 
her part. This isn't Early Victorian wisdom. It is Eve — early and late, and ever the same ! 

2. Should a woman 
her love ? 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time ? 

Yes, it is possible — and most bewildering. One 
person appeals to one side of our nature ; another 
to an utterly different side. But in a great crisis — 
for instance, in an air-raid, when we could save one 
of those persons we loved, and not the other — we should 
suddenly learn which was really indispensable. 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur ? 

I don't believe it does often occur. One feels a thrill, 
one takes a strong fancy, at sight. It may turn out 
to be love, or it may fade into disappointment. But 
a true and strong love at first sight ought to be more 
sublime than any other kind of slower development ; 

lor it should prove that two souls made for one another had recognized each other aaci flown together. 






It seems to me that they are the only marriages which 
ever deserve the name of marriage. • Perhaps j&ome 
easily-satisfied nature could be happy if married for 
some other motive than love. But they would be the 
kind who can be content with the " second best " in 

life. And the difference between what they might call happiness and reed happiness would be all the difference 

there is in a landscape seen on a drizzling day and on a day of glorious sunshine. 

5. Are love marriages the 
best ? 

6* Can a plain woman be 

loved as much as a pretty 

one ? 

Only if she were an angel, a genius, or what the 
Americans call a " Fascinator from Fascinatorville." 
And even so, it would be by a paradox. She wouldn't 
be a plain woman. In the eyes of the man who loved 
her she would be pretty. 

7. Can any love last 'for 
ever ? 

I think all real love must last for ever. It can't help 
itself. It is a perpetual flame, and can't be blown out. 
Even if the loved one dies, and the one who is left 
loves another, if the first love has been Love with a 
capital L, the second would not take the place of the 

one that was gone. But the question bom out of this answer is, " How often is love Love ? " 

Ci/C^C£^4 t&7£ &4* * * **<^»~^ 


1. Whose love is strongest: 
a man's or a woman's ? 

The highest expression of a woman's destiny is in 
her children, and the medium of that expression as 
designed by Nature is her affections. With a man 
the highest expression of his destiny is in the energies 
and abilities for his work. To the woman, love must 

be the greater force. With her it is more than inspiration, more than impulse ; it is — purpose. 

2, Should a woman show 
her love ? 

If, as I have suggested, love is purpose to a woman, 
she should express so much of it as serves that purpose. 
A man who is no fool does not make cheap the 
qualities of his work, or a woman the depths of her 


3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time? 

If by this question is meant the broadest definition 
of love, combining comradeship with affection, passion 
with trust and reverence — no. 

Love at first sight, according to all accounts, must 
often occur — just as certain musical harmonies will 
break in pieces in a moment a glass ornament affected 
by the vibrations set in motion by those harmonies, 
so certain natures at first contact are made sub- 
consciously sensible of qualities of affinity which at once stimulate the affections. It is the same with antipathies. 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur ? 

5. Are love marriages the 

A marriage without love may be good for the State, 
since a woman who does not love her husband will 
almost certainly love her children, and bring them 
up well. But this is reducing marriage to a State 
contract in which the parties concerned are merely 
servants of the State. It is hardly to be supposed this side of the question was intended. To the individual 
love marriages can be the only satisfactory relationships. Hence the projected alterations in the laws of divorce. 
If cleanliness is next to godliness, unhappiness is surely in the same street with half the evil in the world. 

6. Can a plain woman be 
loved as much as a pretty 


by Google 

Looks have really very little to do with love. Character 
almost entirely dominates real affection. A plain 
woman with beauty of character cannot escape beauty 
of looks to the man who knows and loves her 

Original from 



This question is somewhat ambiguous. If it is meant, 
can love last during the entire lifetime, of the persons 
in love? the answer must certainly be in the affirmative; 
A man and woman can love each other all their lives, 
and in old age return to the love of children, passionless 

but not without emotion. If, on the other hand, the words " for ever refer to the eternity of time, the writer 

feels impelled to a sense of reserve from want of any practical experience. 

7. Can any love last for 
over ? 


1. Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's ? 

Excepting in certain very rare and extraordinary 
cases, a woman's love is strongest. Strongest in every 
relation where love plays a part. To this there is, 
perhaps, one exception. A man will often show the 
most wonderful love and tenderness from childhood 
to middle age for a sometimes quite undeserving parent. This,is more unusual in a woman. What is usually 
called love — that is, romantic love — certainly lasts much longer in a woman than in a man, and often — too 
often—with the various unhappy concomitants of romantic love, of which the chief is jealousy. 

2, Should a woman 
her Ibve ? 


This, is a most difficult question to answer, but I am 
inclined to take the unconventional view and say 
yes, a woman should show her love. For one thing, 
her doing so may end a very unhappy and miserable 
state of mind — one that prevents a girl or woman 
from thinking of anything but her attraction towards one special human being, and whether he returns her 
feeling or not. If her love is rejected, she knows where she stands, and it not infrequently happens that the 
mere fact that a woman shows that powerful attraction awakens enough love in a man to lead to a very happy- 
marriage. In this connection I should like to recall the old French saying \ lly a des mariages heureux, il riy 
en a point de dilicieux* 

Certainly it is possible* and, indeed, extremely usual. 
I am inclined to think, though probably most men 
would not agree, that this strange state of mind and 
body is more usual in women than it is in men. A 
man who is really in love with a woman seems hardly 
to know that any other woman exists. But what is the 
rule with a man is by no means the rule with a woman. That may be the reason why it sometimes happens that 
a girl, after what has appeared to be a quiet, happy, normal engagement, suddenly breaks it off and marries 
another man, without undergoing that long, chilling process which men show in a similar case. 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the -same time ? 

Romantic love almost always occurs at first sight. 
Every language in the world has some synonym for 
this occurrence. Perhaps the French term is the 
most striking and the best. Among our Allies it is 
called " Le coub de foudre" Some men and women 

—more often men than women — are capable of continually renewing this exciting and agreeable experience. 

They are born bachelors, and should remain so. 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur ? 

5. Are love marriages the 

This raises a very great question — the question, W hat 
is love ? No reasonable man or woman can doubt 
that a marriage founded on love is the ideal for every 
human being who wishes to enter that difficult relation. 
But personally I doubt very much if " falling in love " 
is the best preliminary. The terrible old saying— and terrible it is — "Marry in haste and repent at leisure," 
applies specially to the type of union in which two young people, feeling a violent attraction for one another, go 
off to a church or registry office without knowing anything of each other's true natures, virtues, or faults. The 
average middle-age marriage, which is nowadays increasingly common, is often extremely happy — this probably 
because it has been contracted in a much more thoughtful, sober way. 

Certainly. The French try to explain this by calling 
such a one " Une jolie laidc" and there is a type of 
actual ugliness which is much more attractive to men 
than insipid beauty. A plain woman may hope to be 
loved longer and more faithfully than the pretty woman 
whose chief or only attraction is her looks. Probably 
the most attractive gift is vitality. The girl or woman who is full of vitality will never lack admirers, or even lovers. 

6. Can a plain woman be 

loved as much as a pretty 

one ? 






colloquial expression, to " keep his or her end up." 

sometimes the doormat induces the kind of pity which is akin to love. 

Love cannot only last, but can grow in intensity, 
depth, and tenderness in almost every relation of life. 
But where this rare and beautiful condition exists 
one of the two parties has to be extremely selfless, 
indulgent, and self-effacing, while yet able, to use a 
No man or woman really loves a doormat, although - 



*C-4L„ e ~c **.. 


1. Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's ? 

A woman usually makes the greatest sacrifices* 
Every woman yearns for love, while man is very prone 
to regard a woman's heart far too lightly. A good 
man woman makes her idol, while hero-worship, an 
admiration almost amounting tb love, is usually upon 
the woman's side. 

2. Should a woman show 
her love ? 

To do so without first being confident of it being 
reciprocated would, in most cases, lower her in the 
man's esteem. He might quite wrongly accuse her 
of being flighty, or even fast ! No. A woman should 
be careful not to show her love, but preserve an in- 
different calm until the man declares his affection. 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time? 

Decidedly not. True lave is affection for one person 
only. In the world no one else matters. Platonic 
love, as differing from real love, may allew a man 
. or woman to feel a deep affection for several others, 
but the ideal love between man and woman cannot 
admit of more than a single object of devotion. 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur ? 

There is a certain bacillus affecting youthful persons 
which scientists have as yet not named — the Love 
Microbe. This is mostly to be found in ballrooms, 
theatres, and seaside resorts, and persons attacked 
by the malady are prone to " fall in love " at first 

sight. This occurs frequently with the flapper and the youth under military age. But it is only an infectious 

symptom of the real love that is to follow in later life. 

Decidedly. In these days of exorbitant prices, 
coupons, and the high cost of 'living, however, love 
in a cottage will cost more to-day than in the twelve- 
roomed house of a decade ago. But better not love 
at all than love for money. In my personal expe- 
rience I have never known a single instance of such " arranged " marriages to turn out happily. 

6. Can a plain woman be 

loved as much as a pretty 

one ? 

Certainly. The first women of our time and our 
greatest heroines have usually been plain women. 
After all, the steady, thinking man knows well that 
beauty is but skin-deep, and that the most beautiful 
flowers are often the most deadly. Men with real 
love in their hearts do not actually heed a woman's 
good looks. It is her disposition, her sweetness of 
temper, her softness of speech, and her purity which attract the desirable husband. Those who seek a beautiful 
face too often find wickedness concealed beneath. I do not imply that all pretty women are wicked ; but 
outstanding beauty is, alas ! too frequently an incentive to an airiness of manner, a love of gaiety, and a desire 
for admiration which certainly bores a man after a brief period. 

Yes. I had an aunt and uncle who had been married 
fifty-seven years. At night before the fire they would 
sit as lovers, the husband would hold his wife's hand 
and stroke it tenderly. They used to declare that 
they never quarrelled except upon some trivial matter 
—a window to be open, or shut. And each night the husband, aged eighty-nine, would raise his wife's wasting 
hand and, bending gallantly, imprint upon its back a kiss. They died within a month of each other, loving 
devotedly to the last. This is but one case within my own observation, and there must be hundreds of 
similar ones. 

C*(\r\Ct\i' m Original from 





1. Whose love is strongest : 
a man's or a woman's ? 

In psychological matters it is, of course, very difficult 
to generalize ; but, roughly speaking, we. must admit 
that a woman's love is stronger than a man's, because 
it is capable of more resistance and of survival. With 
a man, love — meaning love in its highest acceptance 
and not just elemental passion, however potent — must always go hand in hand with respect and admiration 
for moral or intellectual worth ; a man will not go to the length, say, of marrying a woman whom he could not 
respect ; therefore, we must take it that there is a certain amount of calculation — noble, exalted calculation 
one admits — in a man's love for a woman. But with her it is different. A woman does not love a man for 
what he is, but often in spite of it ; she will give herself just as whole-heartedly to a degraded wretch or to 
a criminal if she loved him, as she wculd to a Galahad. " She is not worthy to be the mother of my children." 
will often be a man's dictum in his innermost heart, even when his senses are enchained by the wc man's whcle 
personality ; but I doubt if in the whole history of the great passion — if it ever comes to be written — a single 
case could be adduced of a woman saying in like circumstances : J* No ! he is unworthy to be the head of my 
house, the father of my children ! " 

If a woman really loves, she will find it impossible 
to conceal it. It will manifest itself in a thousand 
little ways, which the loved one — if he be very obtuse 
— will probably not notice, but which— providing 
that he is heart-whole at the time — will inevitably 
draw his love to her, sooner or later, as there is no more potent magnet in the whole world than perfect love. 

2. Should -a woman 
her love ? 


Absolutely impossible, if by love we mean perfect 

lo,ve — that is to say love of the spirit (the soul, the ; 

heart, the ego, or whatever we may choose to call' 

our higher self) in union with love, of the body. ■ It 

is perfectly possible for either a man or a woman to, 

be enslaved to another through the. senses, whilst, 

retaining a deep and sentimental attachment for some 

other person, but neither of these two sentiments in themselves can by the wildest sophistry be called JLove. 

3. Is it possible to love 
more than one person at 
the same time ? 

4. Love at first sight — does 
it often occur ? 

Love is not a plant that grows or thrives. It is an 
elemental force — wjiich is created. 

5. Are love marriages the 

Undoubtedly. To begin with there is Nothing so* 
abhorrent to a sensitive woman as a loveless marriage* 
and if she is not sensitive — if she is a mere doll, a 
clod, an insentient, unthinking being, the mere recipient 
of a home or social position — she is not likely to make 
any man happy. Gratitude for creature comforts, or for benefits to her own family, is but a cold and attenuated 
sentiment which will soon wither at touch of the first real temptation. That is, of course, the woman's point of 
view. As for the man who marries for any other reason save that of love — however shallow — if he marries for 
money, position, or mere business reasons, he is anyhow such a weak-kneed creature that he is not likely to make 
any woman happy. 

As muck if not as often, for in all probability she wiU 
be loved first by the man's higher self (his spirit, or 
soul, or ego, call it what we will), and if she then 
succeeds in capturing his senses as well, his love for* 
her will be far stronger and more enduring than that 
which a beautiful woman so easily obtains. To begin 
with, the man himself will be a finer, more spiritual type of man altogether, a stronger character, more constant 
than the man who falls a ready victim to a pretty woman's charm. Here again we must think of love in its 
supreme, dual capacity — the great passion — not the mere elemental desire. 

7. Can any love last for 


Love, if it be perfect love, will certainly in every case 
last for ever. There is nothing to kill it. Nothing to 
wear it out. The senses may become satiated, t t 
the spiritual bond will continue long after Time I s 
traced ineradicable lines on the loved one's fa . 

Perfect love means perfect faith, perfect trust, perfect companionship of mind and of body, perfect communi 
of interests, of ideals, and of ambitions. All the powers of darkness — sorrow, trouble, boredom, monotony, ton 
tations — cannot prevail against its power. 

And such love does exist — more often than most people think — only that it does not proclaim its existen 
before a cynical world. 

by Google 


The Thirteenth Pearl. 


Illustrated ty A. Giltert, R.O.L \ 

ERVE the coffee here," Mrs. 
Obden-Belpont announced over 
a rice-powdered shoulder. 

" At the table, madam ? " 
inquired the obviously scandal- 
ized old butler. 
" At the table." 
" And the liqueurs, madam ? " 

" And the liqueurs," retorted his mistress as 
she glanced down the long rectangle of damask, 
bordered with its chequered coast-line of jewel- 
burdened women and more sombre-figured men. 

It had taken no little adroitness to pilot that 
mixed assemblage. But the Duke himself was 
now apparently deep in talk with Karsowintz. 

"... And also the Shropshire Collection," 
she heard Karsowintz's voice saying with that 
easy mastery of English peculiar to his country - 
men. " That, as your Grace very well knows, is 
unmatched even in America." 

The fixed melancholy of the Duke's face 
relaxed into a smile. It was a barricading sort 
of~smile, apparently tinged with the Britisher's 
instinctive distaste for " swank." 

"They're talking about the family shiners," 
a young aide in full uniform murmured across 
the table to Lady Evelyn, who, in turn, glanced 
along the chequered line of glory to the extremely 
sharp-featured woman in the sharp-angled tiara. 

" Mother always makes me rather think of a 
Durbar, with those things on," she said, in her 
clear-noted contralto. 

The Duchess was explaining to Karsowintz 
how a French perfume had been spilt on one of 
her turquoises, with the result that it changed 
the colour of the stone from blue to green. And 
this led the quiet-voiced Russian to explain 
some of the methods of counterfeiting precious 
stones, pointing out, as he went on, that even 
Cellini had not been above doctoring up a dia- 
mond. It relieved Mrs. Obden-Belpont to find 
that her unknown guest was talking so well. 

A girl farther down the table quietly unsnapped 
a string of pearls from her neck and passed them 
up to Karsowintz. 

" How about these ? " she asked. She was 
blonde and fragile-looking, but amazingly vivid 
and matter-of-fact. And still again the expert 
smiled as he glanced over the tiny rope of milk- 
coloured globes. 

" They are very beautiful," he acknowledged. 

" It sounds terribly American, I suppose, but 
I should really like to know what they're worth." 

u To you ? " asked Karsowintz. " Or to a 
dealer ? " 

by L^OOgle 

" The dealer, of course." 

The mild-eyed Russian smiled again, even as 
he seemed to be performing a quick sum in 
mental arithmetic. All the table, by this time, 
was watching him. 

" Eighteen thousand dollars," was his quiet 
response. " That is, of course, counting in the 
duty, but not the war-tax." 

The blonde head noddedf* 

" I've always said that jewellers could be 
depended on," she announced, with a note of 
triumph. "To be exact, they cost mother 
seventeen thousand and seven hundred." 

" I was wrong by three hundred," admitted 
the Russian. " Such things, of course, have 
gone up a little during the last few months. But 
we are boring the ladies, I'm afraid, by talking 

" Not on your life," retorted a dyspeptic 
millionaire near the head of the table. " Any 
woman I've ever known is only too hanged 
interested in jewels." 

" But they demand so much of them," said 
Karsowintz, puzzled by the ripple of laughter 
as he frowned down at the little rope of pearls 
swaying from his finger-end. " Take these, for 
example.' You have the habit of always aspiring 
for bigness. You have been spoiled, I think, by 
the synthetic pearl, the reconstructed pearl, 
which can be made as big as you wish. We hear 
a great deal about extraordinary pearls. But 
it is very, very rare that a spherical pearl of 
choice lustre weighs one hundred grains." 

" About how big would that be ? " asked 
Dugmore, the railroad king. 

Karsowintz turned casually to the Duchess. 

" I wonder if your Grace would make it easier 
to explain by lending me the Ceylapore Pendant 
for a minute or two ? *' he asked, with his siikily 
impersonal matter-of-factness. " That is, if it 
is not too difficult to unclasp," he added, as he 
noticed the owner of the pendant exchange 
glances with her husband 

" I can undo it, mamma," said Lady Evelyn, 
who had already slipped out of her chair. The 
Duke nodded his head, and as Karsowintz 
turned and asked the butler for a scrap of paper 
the girl stood behind her mother and unfastened 
the ingenious clasp of the pendant. 

" It will take only a minute," explained the 
abstracted Russian, as he produced a pocket- 
pencil and took the cluster of graduated pearls 
in his left hand. " And I feel sure your Grace 
will pardon my pointing out to this company 
that the centre pearl in this pendant-chain is the 





largest pearl in the Shropshire Col- 
lection, and to-day is unmatched not 
only in value but also in beauty by 
any pearl in America. It is hard to 
determine its size as it stands here 
on the string, so 1 shall place it on 
this sheet of paper, so, and with 
this pencil trace its extreme circumference." 

He carefully pushed the graduated white 
globes back along the silk fibre which held them, 
separating the centre pearl from its mates by 
the fraction of an inch. Then with equally 
deliberate fingers he drew his pencil -point 
fastidiously abut the sphere as it lay before 
him on the paper, 

p ' That is the exact size,' 1 he said as he sat up, 
and with his unctuous bow passed the pendant 
back to its owner, * H Now, will somebody be so 
good as to lend me a dime, an ordinary ten-cent 
piece ? Ah, thank you, About the rim of the 
coin I shall now draw a second circle, close 
beside the first, And now, ladies and gentle- 
men/' he went on, with a half -humorous ass u nip- 
lion of the pedagogic manner, " you will see by 
actual measurement that the world-famous 
Ceylapore Pearl, the most valuable pearl in 
America to-day, is really not a sixteenth of an 
inch bigger than a dime. I'm not going to say 
what that pearl is worth in dollars and cents. 
You'd probably not believe me if I did" 

Mrs. Obden- Bel pontes quick eye went out to 
her guest of honour. On the ducal forehead she 
thought she detected a slight fmwn of displeasure. 
It reminded her that her cousins beyond the sea 
had a habit of being less vocal about their 
possessions, She promptly decided to pilot the 
talk into channels less commercial. But all 
chance for doing so was suddenly snatched out 
of her hands, 

Even as she caught the eye of the Duchess, and 
was on the point of speaking, the calm of the 
house was disrupted by the sound of sudden 
tumult. Fcom some neighbouring part of the 

by LiOOgle 

house came the incomprehensible echo of over- 
turned furniture, the quick stamp and scuffle 
of feet, a muffled shout or two, and then an even 
more mysterious noise, oddly like that made by 
slapping two leather -bound books together, 
The guests stiffened into involuntary attention. 

" Upon my soul," gasped the aide in uniform. 
" that sounds uncommonly like a pistol-shot t<* 

The women stared at each o her across His 
intervening bank of smilax and roses. 

" Benchiey, at once I " It was Mrs. Obden- 
Belpont, commanding a footman. Her butler, 
she found, was not in the room. 

That functionary appeared the next moment. 
His face was a mask, his elbows were squared, 
and his eyes were fixed vacantly on space, in 
his preordained professional manner. But lm 
breathing was hard, and a faint dew of moisture 
shone on his well -powdered skin. 

lr Benchley/' demanded his mistress, " wh;it 
was that ? " 

" A slight disturbance, madam," he replied. 

" So we are all aware. Bui what was it ? n 

H I think, madam, it was a "ouse -breaker," he 

" Then that was a pistol -shot/ 1 announced 
the aide. 

" Was anybody hurt ? " demanded Obden- 

" No, sir, not to speak of." 

** And where's your man ? " 

" We 'ave him subdued, sir." 

" Then bring him in" commanded the master 
of the house. " Bring him in so that we can 
have a look at him/ 1 




A run of pizzicato murmurs rose from the table. 

Benchley returned to the room, leading in by 
the arm a rather business-like figure in navy- 
blue serge. The hands of this figure were tied 
behind him with a table-napkin, reinforced by 
what looked like a trunk-strap. On one side of 
his still youthful-looking face, between the ear 
and the eyebrow, stood out a purplish welt ffom 
which blood trickled slowly, drop by drop. His 
eyes were sullen and slightly oblique, giving 
the ashy face a faintly Asiatic expression. But 
that staring group was obviously disappointed 
at some absence of picturesqueness in him, 
looking, as he did, more like a tradesman's 
messenger than a nocturnal Captain Kidd. 

" He won't talk, sir," explained Benchley. 

Still again the prisoner was scrutinized. 

" Then supposing we see just what he's got on 
him,'* suggested Obden-Belpont. " And, by 
the way,, who got his weapon ? " 

" It's here, sir," responded Benchley, as he 
handed a revolver to his master. And that 
firearm seemed suddenly to make amends for 
the absence of picturesqueness in its owner's 

" Go through his pockets/' commanded 
Benchley's master. 

The solemn old servant stepped back to the 
prisoner and with pursed-up lips proceeded to 
carry out what was plainly an unsavoury task. 

" Loaded, of course," ejaculated Obden- 
Belpont, as he exhibited a full clip of pointed- 
nosed cartridges to the company about the table. 

Karsowinti, who had lighted his second 
cigarette, sat back staring at the prisoner. He 
inspected him with dreamy and abstracted eyes. 
He continued to smoke in meditative silence as 
Benchley unearthed a set of skeleton keys, a 
jointed steel pocket-jemmy, and a small flash- 
lamp. Then from an inner pocket a yellow silk 
handkerchief was produced. 

A murmur of wonder went up from the table 
as this handkerchief was unfolded. For that 
movement revealed a thin hunting-case watch, 
a pair of emerald earrings, a diamond-studded 
breast-pin, and six or seven rings of various sizes 
and settings. 

" Is that all ? " Obden-Belpont demanded of 
his butler. 

"All but a bit of change in his trousers 
pocket, sir," answered Benchley. 

" Then go to the telephone and call up the 
police. Tell them just what happened and say 
we want an officer here at once." 

A look of trouble came into the butler's 
customarily impassive face. 

" Begging your pardon, sir, Evans 'as just 
discovered that the telephones are out of order. 
The wires appear to 'ave been tampered with, 

Still again a not altogether disagreeable stir 
of alarm rippled about the waiting and listening 

" I suppose that was your work ? " the owner 
of the house proclaimed to his sullen-eyed 

The captive's reply was as unexpected as it 
was incomprehensible* Instead of answering 

Digitized by LiOOgJC 

that question directly, and in the tongue in which 
it was put to him, he stared blankly at the wall 
and rattled out a sentence or two in a foreign 
language. Then silence fell once more on the 

" Now, what does that mean ? " asked the 
railroad king as the guests sat looking at each 

" Does anyone here happen to know Hindu- 
stani ? " It was Karsowintz's velvety voice 
which had put the question. 

"It* was not Hindustani," announced the 
Duke, with decision. " I can at least assure you 
of that." 

" Then what was it ? " demanded the practical- 
minded mistress of the house, with her eye bent 
on the dreamy-faced Karsowintz. 

" Heaven only knows," replied the latter, with 
what was plainly a frown of perplexity. " But 
it was none of the seven with which I can claim 
a speaking acquaintance." 

It was the slightly indignant Benchley who 
ventured the next statement. 

" He can speak English, sir, as well as I can. 
We 'eard him doing it." 

" But with us you have rooted objections to 
conversing, is that it ? " inquired Obden-Belpont 
as he faced his prisoner. " You don't intend to 
talk, do you ? " 

The question remained unanswered. It was 
Karsowintz who broke the silence. 

" That is a decision which time for thought 
may possibly alter," he suggested. Then he 
turned about in his chair and again with great 
deliberation studied the man in the business- 
looking blue serge suit. 

" What do you mean by time for thought ? " 
Mrs. Obden-Belpont asked of Karsowintz, 
struggling against her foolish antipathy for the 

" Oh, I should merely suggest," was the 
Russian's quiet reply, " that we give him the 
pleasure of our company until he showed some 
signs of changing his mind. In other words, I 
should keep him here until he woke up to the 
fact that silence isn't always golden." 

" Weil, he's going to be here for half an hour 
or so," concurred Obden-Belpont. " So he 
might as well stay in this room with us. Man- 
ners, help Benchley carry in that Norman arm- 
chair from my library — the big chair of carved 

The speaker turned back to his guests. As he 
did so he took up the pistol which lay beside 
him on the table. " And you, Captain Willison, 
must be thoroughly familiar with firearms. So 
will you be good enough to take charge of this 
and at the same time see to it that our prisoner 
makes no* movement to escape — no successful 
movement I mean ? " 

The pink-cheeked man in uniform, with two 
dozen eyes suddenly centred on him, flushed a 
little as the weapon was handed gingerly down 
the line. But he was very calm as he took the 
revolver and the clip of cartridges in his hand. 

" If he makes a move," announced that quiet- 
eyed young officer, " I can drop him at forty 

paces ' Original from 




Karsowinta's eye was contemplating him with J He will be wise enough, 1 imagine, to rerii 

a sort of sardonic apathy, At the same ti in our midst," ventured the lazy-toned I 

the door opened and the *wo servants lumbered as he !?t still another cigarette^ 

in with th*s h ^ir fJ We U at least do what we can to keep 1 



Obcjen-Belpont assented with decision, as he 
gestured for the servants to . place the chair 
at the foot of the table. " Now, Benchley, put 
your man in that chair. Now take these table- 
napkins and tie him there, one leg each front 
leg of the chair. Yes, you had better double 
the strands, one at the ankle and another at the 
knee. Now let his hands loose from the back 
and tie them along the arms of the chair. That 
will be more comfortable, I imagine. No, not 
too tight. But make sure of your knots." 

All eyes were directed on the odd figure 
enthroned in the antique chair at the end of the 
table. That ponderous setting of ' carved oak 
seemed to leave the prisoner's figure smaller 
than a ever. It became reassuring in its im- 
pression of fragility. Even the women could 
now contemplate the captive without timidity. 
But it was Karsowintz's voice which finally 
broke the .silence. 

" Might I look over that loot of his ? " he 
languidly inquired. " It may give us an inkling 
of what his taste is." 

The handkerchief was passed along the table 
until it rested in front of the Russian. A some- 
what disdainful smile rose to his lips as he 
prodded with a long and pointed finger amid 
the litter of .trinkets on the square of soiled yellow 
silk. He, had taken 'his turn, by this time, as 
the .target for their attention. 

"Most,* from the maids' quarters, I 
imagine," commented Karsowintz. " This ruby, 
you see, is reconstructed. And the pearl in .this 
prin'Is'What the trade calls a synthetic one." 

" How did you ever come to know so much 
about jewels ? " asked Mrs, Obden-Berpont. 

".That was my only mission in life for quite a 
number of years/.' the Russian smilingly replied. * 
" First at the Yousoff Mines in the Urals for 
eight years; and .for nearly six years as one of 
the European agents for Yandel."- 

" For Yandel ? " It was the Duke himself 
who had turned about in his chair. 

" Then you knew him ? " asked Karsowintz. 

" Yes." 

M Well ? " 

"No. But I once had occasion to confer 
with that extraordinary little chap," quietly 
acknowledged the other. 

" Who was Yandel ? " asked Mrs. Obden- 

" perhaps your Grace would be the best one 
to answer that question," suggested the velvet- 
voiced Russian. 

" On the contrary, I should prefer repeating 
it," retorted his Grace. " I met him only once, 
as I have said, and on merely a trivial matter." 

" I doubt if it was trivial to Yandel," said 
Karsowintz, with a grimace that struck his 
hostess as not over-respectful. " Your Grace 
may not know it, but Yandel waited for twenty 
years for a pearl in your possession." 

" I'm sorry the wait was a hopeless one," was 
the other's unruffled reply. 

The Russian looked at the ceiling. " I don't 
think I ever knew a more persistent man," he 
quietly intoned. 

" I should like to know about him," said the 

nobleman with the eye as melancholy as a 
mastiff's. Karsowintz, catching the nod of his 
hostess, sat for a moment meditating his 

" Phineas Yandel knew more about pearls, I 
imagine, than any man^ who ever lived. He 
made a life study of them. He specialized in 
them, about the same as Fabre, for example, 
specialized in insects, or as your own Edison has 
specialized on electricity. A diamond is always 
a diamond, no matter how placed, how set or 
hung. And twenty of them are merely twenty 
diamonds. But with a pearl it is different. 
One single superlatively beautiful pearl may be 
worth forty, fifty, sixty thousand dollars. But 
twelve pearls of the same size and lustre, duly 
matched, are worth much more than merely 
twelve times that many thousand dollars. In 
a rope, or cluster, perfect in itself, they take on 
an entirely new value. And therein Yandel still 
again showed his bigness. He showed it in 
choosing only the incomparably fine examples. 
He thought only of the future, the dim and 
distant future. He diverted everything to one 
end, and one end only. But he had the com- 
pensation of knowing it was a big end. And it 
was something more than a mere blind passion, 
for it was based on reason. The little man's 
psychology must have been as keen as his 
insight. For he was able to foresee the trend of 
his century's thought and feeling. He under- 
stood what was happening to his country." 
* " Well, what was happening ? " demanded 
the king of rails, as Karsowintz put down his 

" Why, he foresaw you** responded the 
Russian, with his voice of velvety quietness. 
" He realized that America was going to become 
the richest country in the world. He foresaw 
your new aristocracy of wealth, your new kings 
of copper and oil and steel* And Yandel saw 
that your newer kings of finance would do what 
the others of the kind had already done in Tyre, 
in Rome, in Venice, in Antwerp and London. 
They would demand jewels, just as those old- 
world kings had demanded them. 

" I shall not attempt to say just where the 
Great Idea came from. I have heard it said that 
Yandel stumbled across it by accident, in Scutari, 
when in a Turkish cell there he bought from an 
old Armenian what later gave every evidence of 
being the Gongibus Pearl. Heaven only knows 
how it had come into the possession of that 
verminous old convict, and Heaven only knows 
what Yandel paid for it. But it was a perfect 
gem, weighing exactly one hundred and seventy 

" That Gongibus Pearl, at any rate, stood 
before him as an ideal, as a criterion of splendour, 
and he conceived the idea, the Napoleonic idea, 
of assembling a necklace, a necklace wherein 
each gem would be equal in glory and value to 
the Gongibus itself. And from that day on, as 
far as we can judge, he began shaping destiny 
toward that one far-off end. 

" So Yandel slaved, slaved always, plotting to 
achieve the control of more money, and still 
more money, for the next king pearl. 

by Google 

'-1 1 1 I tl I I I ■_' I I 




" All the time, of course, he was dealing 
openly in the smaller gems. But this must have 
been merely for the wherewithal to reach the 
big, supreme end, and also as a blind, I suppose, 
to keep that one big movement screened from 
the world. Then he had agencies to establish, 
agencies in all the God-forsaken corners of the 
world. This meant that he found himself with 
much travelling to do, travelling that was 
uncomfortable and quite often perilous. He 
had the habit of turning up unexpectedly in 
Amsterdam, or in Singapore, or in the Punjab, 
or in Maimsburg itself. But always it was for 
the one purpose. 

" And at intervals Yandel would reappear at 
the New York office of his, that untidily cramped 
and dingy office standing a mere ante-room to 
the grim but orderly vault which loomed up 
behind it. 

" It took the best part of a lifetime, but Yandel 
piled up that necklace, pearl by pearl, until he 
was the possessor of twelve incomparable and 
perfectly matched gems. 

" Yandel's so-called Gongibus Pearl, the first 
of the twelve, I have already touched on. 
Another of them is what is generally known as 
the White Goddess Pearl. In Dagami Yandel 
had stumbled across the first nfmour of the 
White Goddess. It was an image of the Goddess 
of Grace and was given to the temple of the 
goddess by the Emperor Kanghi. Embedded 
in the statue, to form the breasts of the 
figure, were two pearls. More than a century 
later the kingdom was swept by a revolu- 
tion, and the sacred temple of the goddess 
was ravaged. The statue was carried off. 
One pearl was destroyed, I believe, in re- 
moving it from the metal in which it had been 
embedded. The other was treated more respect- 
fully. Eventually it became the property of a 
Dutch camphor-trader, who was murdered and 
robbed of his treasure by a colony of trepang 
gatherers. It passed from hand to hand about 
the Far East and was finally reported to be in 
the possession of a piratical b6che-4e~mer trader 
on the Island of Panguturange. Now, Yandel 
was naturally sceptical as to the countless tall 
yarns about priceless jewels ornamenting Asiatic 
idols, for he very well knew that more often than 
not they were about as worthless as our modern 
stage-jewellery— mere junk and glass to be viewed 
at a respectful distance. But when he investi- 
gated the Kanghi story, delving into authentic 
records, into actual history, he found that the 
King had indeed given such a statue to the 
temple. Yet it was a year later before Yandel 
reappeared in the East, on the trail of the White 
Goddess. He picked up the loose threads of 
rumour, and wandered up and down those long 
and lonely trade routes, enduring heat and filth, 
encountering deceit and treachery, voyaging on 
rotten deck-boards and faring on unspeakable 
food. For half a year the silence of those 
equatorial back-waters of the world swallowed 
him up. He finally ran down the White Goddess 
in a leper-colony on an island called the Name- 
less Island. What it cost him, what he paid for 
it, nobody ever knew. But he nearly paid for it 

with his life, for when he was picked up at sea 
by a Dutch cargo-schooner he was out of his 
wits and was all but thrown overboard as 
a threatened victim of beri-beri. Yandel's ex- 
periences seemed to have* filled him with a hatred 
of the East. For when he learned of a second 
king pearl, the Rana of Dholpur Pearl, in those 
quarters he did not go after it himself, but sent 
another. I know this, because I happened to be 
the person he sent. 

" This brings me down to the eleventh pearl, 
which really isn't the eleventh in actual line of 
rotation, for it was acquired some time after 
either the Star of the East or the White Goddess. 
I can't be sure which. Yandel carried one of 
these gems with him, however, when he wandered 
south from Manila to the Australian beaches. 
Perhaps you can picture the little man. silent, 
wary, self-contained, in the midst of those 
boisterous beachcombers. The pearling - fleet 
crews of that coast are all gamblers. In bad 
weather they escape the storm by running up 
into the mangrove creeks, where they drink like 
stevedores and gamble like Russians. In good 
weather they pearl, the divers going down feet 
first, the ' openers ' on deck digging out the 
shell-meat with sharpened bamboo sticks, the. 
' boss ' sitting under a stretch of dirty awning, 
washing the gems as they come to him, dropping 
the small pearls into an old pickle bottle, tossing 
the bigger ones into a battered old sheet-iron 
cash-box — and Yandel, loafing about watching 
him, always, always watching him. And when 
the cry went up that a king pearl had been 
found all work stopped, and the pearl, still 
unclean with* mucus, was inspected and stared 
at and passed from hand to hand. Yandel 
wanted that pearl. So did several others, free- 
booter buyers who came swarming about that 
filthy schooner like flies about a rotting pear. 
So that night it was auctioned off on deck. You 
can picture the sale, by lamplight, under the 
Southern Cross. Bid after bid, starting with a 
thousand pounds sterling ! Prodigal men and 
, cautious-eyed men, white and yellow and brown, 
traders and thieves and cut-throats ! But drop- 
ping out one by one as the figures climbed 
higher 1 But Yandel didn't drop out. It came 
to a personal contest, at last, between Yandel 
and a wealthy young Portuguese adventurer 
who kept after the little man, bid by bid, who, 
in the end, out-distanced him, and carried off 
the pearl in triumph. 

" Yandel was crushed. He had done his best, 
but miracles were beyond him. No one sus- 
pected it, however, for whatever he may have 
been he was at least a master-actor. Late that 
night, in fact, when the gamblers crowded their 
reeking cabin, tired of ordinary hazards, Yandel 
and his Portuguese rival indulged in a game of 
their own. It was your American game of poker. 
It l>ecame a duel, the stakes doubling, hand by 
hand. Finally Yandel produced his pearl and 
placed it beside the fellow-pearl owned by the 
Portuguese. They played for it. That game 
made a dozen tired-eyed gamblers, used to 
fabulous stakes, rather hold their breath. But 
Yandel won. 





Vol. K-L-14. 

by Google 

Original from 




" He pocketed his pearl as though it had been 
a shilling, yawned indifferently, and announced 
that he was a bit sleepy. But instead of sur- 
rendering to slumber he watched his chance and 
slipped over the side, for he had no wish to court 
murder at the hands of that crew of outlaws* 

" It was I who first picked up the information 
about Yandel's Rana ofDholpur Pearl. The 
Rana's necklace had been dispersed. Following 
his death, a rug-dealer who had brought a ship- 
ment of carpets and shawls down from Amritsar, 
in the Punjab, had drifted into Karachi, on the 
Arabian Sea, with the centre pearl from his 
necklace in his possession. I traced that pearl 
clear up the Chinese coast. There was nothing 
romantic about its acquisition. It was merely 
.a matter of business and hard bargaining. The 
Dholpur Pearl weighed one hundred and eighty- 
three grains when I found it. But the skin had 
been injured,, though I soon saw it was an injury 
which any careful -peeler might put right, with 
jthe loss of not more than a dozen grains. . And 
it cost Yandel, bruised and battered as it was, 
thirty-three thousand pounds in English gold, 
delivered by. the. Hong-Kong agents of the Bank 
of England. It was the altogether unexpected 
acquisition of this second pearl, I think, which 
actually established me in Yandel's confidence. 
I had lengthened his string for him with two 
perfect specimens, and the lengthening of that 
string wa$ his one and only object in life " 

Karsowintz came to a stop. His story snapped 

. as a string snaps. It ended as a film empties 

on an empty spool. Abruptly the suave voice 

ceased, for that listening company founds itself 

engulfed in sudden and inexplicable darkness. 

The lights had gone out, completely, unex- 
pectedly. So unexpected was that little calamity, 
in fact, that it took on the nat re of something 

This initial shock to the group about the table 
was followed by a brief space of time wherein no 
one seemed either to move or speak. After the 
shock came memory, reminders of the telephone 
that had been found silenced. And more than 
one member of the company recalled the fact 
that one of their guests was an unwelcome one, 
an unreliable one, possibly a perilous one. 

" That burglar I " shrilled the thin soprano of 
a woman's voice out of the blackness. It was 
abrupt and exclamative and it was also electrify- 
ing. It was followed by a sentence which cut 
through the same velvety blackness, a sentence 
spoken sharply, and apparently in Slavic. Then 
came a soft confusion of sounds, little gasps and 
calls of warning, a mingled movement of feet and 
furniture, a call for candles, candles at once. 

" Captain Willison, be careful with that 
revolver ! " warned a man's voice. Then came 
further calls of " Watch the doors . . . Marley, 
dear, are you there all right ? . . . Somebody 
get hold of him, the burglar, I mean, before . . . 
David, don't think of leaving me here alone for 
an instant . . . Are you ever, coming with those 
candles, Benchley ? . . . It's a switch, in the 
basement . . . when you throw it open. . . . 
Is it you, Eugene ? . . . Hasn't anybody here 
such a thing as a match ? J f 


Then, to the bewilderment of that disordered 
beehive, the lights themselves flashed on a.gain. 
And a second lethal wave seemed to flow over 
them. They remained quite immobile for a 
moment or two, looking from one to the other 
with slightly shamefaced expressions. 
" Your pendant, mamma ! " 
It was half an interrogation, half an exclama- 
tion. It touched the room into sudden attentive- 
ness as all eyes were turned toward the woman 
in the tiara still seated at the table. 

The gesture of that woman was a purely 
mechanical one. Her right hand lifted to her 
throat, and groped there for a moment. Then 
it was suddenly pressed tight against the pale 
skin, which at the same time rose and fell in an 
involuntary gasp or two of wonder, of consterna- 
tion. For the pendant was not there f 

Then a dozen awakening minds remembered 
and two dozen startled eyes swept the room. 

" Why, he's — he's gone ! *\ somewhat inanely 
gasped Obden-Belpont as he stared at the empty 
chair. Beside it lay an open knife, a slashed 
trunk-strap, and a litter of severed linen. 

It was Mrs. Obden-Belpont who spoke, coolly, 

yet a little tremulously, to the powdered butler 

who had reappeared beside her elbow. 

" Have the police come ? " she demanded. 

" I think that's them in the car now, madam." 

" Then get to all the other doors, quickly 1 

Get a man at each." She ,rose to her feet, 

without even waiting to see that order carried 

out. " And you," she said, with a nod toward 

the man in livery, " if you will bring that pistol 

with you to " 

She stopped short, interrupted by a shout 
from Dugmore, the man of rails. He was 
pointing with his thick forefinger toward a 
huddle of milkily iridescent globes that lay 
along the rug-edge just beyond the empty chair. 
" There's your pendant I " he cried, triumph- 
antly swinging up from his chair as he spoke. 

He was the first to reach them. Yet he had 
a little difficulty in gathering them up, for the 
silk fibre on which they were strung seemed to 
have been broken. Several of them even rolled 
loose from the edge of the rug to the surface of 
the waxed and polished floor beyond. 

There was silence, the silence of suspended 
breathing, as he stepped back to the table, his 
heavy face flushed with stooping. He let the 
gems fall from his cupped hands to the damask- 
covered table. 

" That's the pendant, isn't it ? " he asked, as 
his thick finger endeavoured to arrange them 
in their graduated order. The guests were on 
their feet by this time, clustered about him. 
The Duke, who had remained seated, moved 
his head slowly up and down in assent. 

11 But tJie big centre pearl is gone ! " cried out the 
same contralto voice which two minutes before 
had startled that assemblage. And the company 
drew apart a little, one staring questioningly 
and rather blankly into the eyes of the other. 

" Where's Karsowintz ? " asked - somebody 
from the far end of the table, out of the moment- 
ary silence. 

For Karsowintz was no longer in the room. 


The Problem 



Illustrate a by A* Garrett, 

No. X.-THE 



said Major 
Byles, "that's 
what this pro- 
blem is. It is 
required to offer 
a half -crown for 

bus-fare, arid to receive the change 
wholly in threepenny-bits. And 
you're not allowed to give the conductor 
anything or promise him anything as an in- 
ducement to let you have the nine threepences. 
It's my belief that you'd only have to ask in 
a civil way, and any conductor would do it 
for you* A more obliging set of men than the 
London bus-conductors couldn't be found, ex- 
cept perhaps the London police. I don't call 
it a problem at all* You'll all win, of course, 
and that will mean, a comfortable tenner for 
every member of the club except myself — 
just because I'm stuck up here in the chair. 
It's scandalous." He snipped the end of a 
cigar ferociously, and lit it as if he took pleasure 
in its destruction — which indeed may have 
been the case. - " However, I must do my 
duty, and I'll call on my reverend friend Mr. 
Cunliffe to tell us what he has done about it." 

" My story is a sad one," said the Rev, 
Septimus Cunliffe, ,- It leads me to believe 
that our chairman has over-estimated the 
amiability of the conductors and under-esti- 
mated the difficulty of the problem. I gave a 
half -crown for a threepenny fare, and told the 
man that it would be a great kindness if he 
could let me have my change in threepenny- 
pieces. He never said a word but handed me 
3 florin and three coppers. 

" ' Did you hear what I asked you ? ' I 
said to him, 

" 4 Gh, yes/ he said, ' I heard. If you want 
all them threepences, you'd better get them 
out of the blanky offertory- bag next Sunday l J " 

" Extraordinary," said the chairman, " Some- 
thing must have occurred to ruffle the man's 
temper. Did you find any difficulty, Bunford ? " 

" 1 failed absolutelY " said Sir Charles Bunford. 

you'd BETTER GET THEM OUT OF THE BLANKY offertory -bag 

by K: 


" No doubt I made a mistake in putting my 
request during the ousy hour of the morning. 
The conductor looked resigned but sardonic* 

" ' Want it all in three pennies, do you ? ' 
he said. * Would you like them of any parti- 
cular year ? " 

u I said that the date was immaterial. Any 
year would do. 

"That's all right/ he said, 'Then you 
can wait for next year's/ And he. gave me a 
shilling, a sixpence, and ninepence in what is 
generally described at the inquest as bronze/' 

" Of course,/ 1 said the chairman, " it was a 
mistake to bother the man when he was busy. 
And a little tact is wanted. If Td been in for 
this competition myself I shouldn't just have 
asked fur my change in threcpennies ; I should 
have given some plausible reason for wanting it." 

" With great respect, sir/* said Mr. Quillian, 
M I must differ from you* I had the same idea 
and tried it. I told the conductor that I had 
a bet that I would get my change entirely in 
threepences, I thought it would appeal to 
his sporting instinct, All he said was, ' You've 
lost, then/ and gave me the change without 
as much as one threepenny in it. Seemed 
rather pleased about it, too/' 

" I'd much the same experience/' said Dr. 
Alden. " As I gave the man my half-crown I 
mentioned that I was a collector of threepenny- 
bits, and asked him if he could help me. He 
gave me two shillings and three pennies, 

rt * Well/ he said, f if you like to step off at 
the Bank of England and ask the Chief Cashier 
to give you threepennies for that little lot, you 
can mention my name.' " 

" It's quite possible/' said the chairman, 

Original from 



m that those conductors had not got the three - 
pennies to give you. I go for days sometimes 
without as much as seeing a threepenny -bit. 
It really looks as if the problem presented more 
difficulties than I had at first supposed. Did 
you manage to surmount them, Mr. Matthews ? ** 

M Can't say I did, though I took a k>t of trouble 
about it* There's no two ways about it— if 
you put an unreasonable request to a complete 
stranger, whether he's a bus-Conductor or 
anything else, you're likely to be sat on and not 
to get what you want either. I picked a bus 
In the slack time, running nearly empty, with 
a pood natured -looking conductor, I chatted 
with him for five •minutes, and got him fnendly- 
disposed towards me, before I even mentioned 
threepennies. Then I asked him if he got many 
of them. He said he took enough of them to 
fill a pint -pot some days and he wished he didn't. 
They were finicky things to handle and easy 
dropped. Well, that was a very good start. 
I gave him a half-crown for my threepenny 
-ticket and told him that I would be glad to take 
as many threepenny-bits off his hands as he 
liked to give me. Said I wanted them for a 
young nephew of mine. The man was quite 
willing, and if anybody had offered me twenty- 
pounds just then for my chance of winning the 
prize to-night I'd have refused it. If anybody 
would give me twenty pence for the same chance 
at the present moment I'd jump at it. The 
trouble came in just as the chairman has indi- 
cated. The man looked through his silver 
and did his best for me, but one solitary three- 
penny was all he could raise, I got that one, 
of course, but one is not nine. It was just 
rotten bad luck. He said that nineteen days 
in twenty he could have given me a dozen of 
them, but he supposed it had to happen so." 

" You call that bad luck ? " said the Hon, 
James Feldane, gloomily* " Not half as bitter 
as mine." 

" We'll have the story of 
your failure, Jimmy," said 
the chairman. / ~ 

" Failure's nothing. I've 
failed before and shall do 
again. It's what happened 
afterwards that worries me. 
All the same. 1 don't know 
that I should have 
failed if 1 had simply 
trusted to my own 

iudgment, but the 
Foman looked so 
smart and brainy 
that I let myself 
be influenced, 
though she was 
really talking 
clotted nonsense." 

N You're getting 
on too quickly, '* 
said the chairman. 
*' To what woman 
do you refer ? " 

" How should I 
know ? I haven't aE didn't say 

an idea what her name is- She was one of a 
pack of hens that I found cackling in my sister's 
drawing- room. They were discussing their maids 
and how to manage them, same as women have 
always done since the year one. The brainy- 
looking one said that when she had a reasonable 
order to give a maid, she always ptit it in the 
form of a request : but if she had an unreason- 
able request to make to a maid she always 
put it in the form of an order. She said that 
this always bluffed the maid out, I thought 
there might be something in that bit of wisdom. 
If you give an order m an ordinary way, as if 
it were a matter of course, it may get taken in 
that spirit. Anyway. I thought I'd try it with 
the bus-conductor. I gave him my half-crown, 
and said in my light and casual way, * Three- 
penny ticket. And give me my change in three- 

-i He didn't say anything. He just glared 
at me. If he had said anything it would prob- 
ably have scorched the top off the bus. He 
gave me my change — with never a threepenny* 
bit in it — and then glared some more, He'd 
got rather a good glare. Broke up my nerves, 
anyhow. At the next corner I hopped off. 

fi Now mark the sequel. A little later I 
owed a taxi eightpence, gave the man a half* 
crown and waited for my change. ' Sorry, 
sir/ said the man, J but I shall have to give yon 
six threepenny-bits, I've got no other silver.' 

94 And that's the way things happen. When 
you want a thing you can't get it, and when 
you don't want it it's chucked at you." 

Cat. jjjjjjs i 

ANYTHING. OTcM fftWf D *T "■-" 




"Well, really/' said the chairman, without 
a blush, "as I foresaw, this turns out to be a 
very difficult problem. No interruptions, please. 
I know that I did not actually say that it was 
very difficult, but it was in my mind. It looked, 
easy, as I pointed out in my opening remarks, 
but nobody knows better than I do that appear- 
ances are often deceptive. I shall call upon 
our great expert and prize-winner. Mr. Pusely- 
Smythe. I am confident that he wilt have 
realized the difficulties and acted accordingly." 

Mr. Pusely-Smythe smiled grimly and sar- 
donically. " Thank you, sir," he said, " for 
your kind words. I do not want to brag, but 
I gave this problem my very earnest considera- 
tion, and I do think that I realized some at 
least of the difficulties before me. I saw, firstly, 
that it was possible and even probable that 
the conductor might not have nine threepenny- 
bits to give me. Now some company-promoters 
have found out that the best way to get gold 
out of a gold-mine is to start by putting a 
little gold into it. I adopted that principle. 
I selected a certain bus on a certain route. 
I arranged that on the journey just before I 
made my appearance no fewer than twelve pas- 
sengers would pay their fares with threepenny- 
bits. It only required a little organization. 
If you tell a human boy or even a human girl 
to take your threepenny-bit, pay a penny bus- 
fare with it, and keep the change, you get willing 
service without any troublesome demand for 
explanations. Secondly, I had to have a story 
to tell the conductor that would induce him 
to oblige me. I was prepared to tell him that 
a friend had promised me that if I could collect 
a thousand threepenny-bits for the London 
Hospital, he would add double that amount to it. 

" I notice, sir, an unworthy expression of 
suspicion on the face of my learned friend Mr. 
QuUlian. My story for the conductor was not 
only plausible — it was actually true. I was 
the man who had made that promise to myself. 
(If I am not my own friend, who is ?) Further, 
I was so absolutely certain of success that I 
remitted the sum in question, thirty-two pounds 
ten shillings, to the hospital and have a receipt 
for it. When I deducted the thirty-two pounds 
ten shillings expenditure from the hundred 
and ten pounds prize, I calculated that it would 
still leave a living wage for myself. Well, 
that was the position. I saw that there were 
two main difficulties in this problem, and I 
had arranged tp meet both of them." 

" Quite so," said the chairman. " As I've 
always said, these things need to be worked 
out in a clear-minded and systematic way. 
And the result was all right ? " 

Pusely-Smythe's smile was more sardonic 
than ever. " Much depends on the point of 
view ; it was all right from some points of view. 
Punctually at the time I had fixed I took my 
seat on the top of the bus I had selected. About 
a minute later the conductor came up to collect 
the fares. I felt for my half-crown. I had 
not got any half-crown. I had no money on 
me whatever. I had inadvertently left my 
money at home. There was nobody on the 

by Google 

bus to whom I could apply for temporary assist* 
ance. Well, there was no help for it. The 
conductor was weary, but firm. He told me 
to hop off the bus and not to try it on again. 
I hopped. It may have been all right from the 
point of view of the other competitors, but from 
my own point of view it was less satisfactory. 
And it # only shows that you may lose your 
game by missing a perfectly easy shot." 

Mr. Wildersley, A.R.A., had demanded three- 
pennies from a conductor on the ground that 
he was collecting them. The conductor had 
replied that he was there to take the fares; not 
to supply private museums. Mr. Austin had 
met a most obliging conductor, who, however, 
had no threepennies in his possession. Lord 
Herngill and Mr. Hesseltine had only contemp- 
tuous refusals to record. 

This, of course, happened before the war.* In 
these days, when the gentler, kindlier, and more, 
refined sex has charge of our public vehicles 
the problem might prove easy of solution. 

" Well," -the chairman began. " it looks as 
if the whole lot of you duffers had failed." Here 
the secretary, Lord Herngill, whispered a few 
warning words in his ear, and the chairman 
nodded assent. 

" Yes," he resumed, " it may look to you 
duffers as if the whole lot of you had failed, 
but of course that would be wrong. Nobody 
has succeeded in getting nine threepennies in 
change. But in that case the nearest approxi- 
mation to that number wins. Mr. Matthews 
got one threepenny, and conformed to the con- 
ditions. Nobody else even got one. Therefore 
I declare Mr. Matthews tobe the winner." 

Jimmy Feldane confided his private sorrows 
to his friend Hesseltine. " I don't mind old 
Matthews winning. He's a genial old bird, 
and what he don't know about the noble art 
of dining ain't worth worrying over. But 
there is just one thing that makes me want to 
kick myself round and round this room till I 
get giddy. When Matthews told us his yarn 
he said he'd take twenty pence for his chanoe 
of the prize. I ought to have been on to it 
in a flash, if not sooner. One-and-eight for a 
sporting chance of a hundred and ten pounds 
is good enough. The more I think of it the more 
I see that I ought not to be allowed out except 
in charge of a nursemaid." 

" Oh, we all missed that chance," said Hessel- 
tine. " Maybe a drink might do us some good." 

While they were taking the medicine indicated, 
the chairman read out the problem which was 
to employ them during the following month. 
The fantastic editor of The Pig-keepers' Friend 
had entitled it, " The Q-Loan Problem," and its 
terms were as follows : — 

" It is required in three days to borrow as 
many things as possible, the name of each thing 
to begin with the letter Q. Nothing counts 
for the competition if its name is on the list 
of more than one member. No money may be 
given or promised in respect of any loan." 

" And to-morrow morning, bright and early," 
said Jimmy, " I'm off to the Zoo in a taxi to 
see if I can't borrow their quagga." 



George Meredith 

as a 

Publisher's Reader 
ana Critic. 


By B. W. MATZ. 


The facsimile reproductions of Mr; Meredith's handwriting are made with 
the permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall, for which firm George Meredith 
acted for many years as Publisher's Reader, and of which the writer of the 

following article is a member. 

i JU tfll 

OW in any of the well -known 
novelists of to-day act as pub- 
lisher's reader, I wonder ? In 
the older days it was the custom ■ 
and James Payn and George 
Meiedith, to name bat two, 
tilled such posts in respective 
publishing houses* Each made 
discoveries of new authors, and, it is well known, 
rejected others who became famous. The same 
misfortune, of course, happens to-day, and we 
could name several successful books which have 
been rejected by more than one publisher, 
before they met the eye of a " reader " who not 
only saw merit in t he in from a literary point of 
view, but also from a commercial one. 

Those who know and appreciate the works of 
George Meredith either as poet, essayist or 
novelist, would hesitate perhaps to name him 
as a good publisher's reader : for if his advice 
was to be based upon his own standard of liter - 
ture, it would have to be admitted that the 
popular, and therefore the commercial, view 
would be more or less a closed book to him. 
Yet he did act in such a capacity for upwards 
of thirty years, and the firm for whom he acted 
religiously kept copies of his opinions on the 
numerous manuscripts submitted to him. It 
is the purpose of this article to glance at some of 
the criticisms he passed on the work of his 
contemporaries that came before his penetrative 
eye and brain. 

In the early association with the firm, he 
evidently received an honorarium for each 
manuscript read ■ but he used to be in attendance 
at Chapman and Hall's offices in Piccadilly and 
frequently addressed his letters from there, 
made appointments to meet friends til ere, or to 

Digitized by Lt< 

receive correspondence, " Please send word 
Chapman and Hall's, " or similar phrases, are to be 
found in bin tetters to friends. 

Whatever the earlier arrangements were, he 
certainly made a compact with the Jirm later, 
which made him a member of the staff with a 
fixed salary, for in 1864 he writes to a frienl 
that he is to be "in Piccadilly three afternoons 
a week : write all letters anent MSS. h will oc- 
casionally, when imperative, see the authors t 
(my name not being given), and so forth : thus 
...,,..«* becoming a chief person, and 
at no great cost, and with a suitable addition 
to pay," 

His association with the firm actually began 
in i860, when at the age of thirty- two he suc- 
ceeded John Forster, the friend of Dicl&ens, 
He had already published three books, including 
his wonderful " Ordeal of Richard Fcvcrel." 
and to judge from the genius which produced 
such a book, it can easily be understood how 
difficult he was to please and how tremendously 
high his standard was. From such a pinnacle 
his judgment was undoubtedly right and sound* 
even if it is said that it was unsound from the 
popular point of view. 

He once wrote to a friend concerning the 
vocation of a novelist : "I think that all right 
use of life, and the one secret of life, is to pave 
ways for the firmer footing of those who succeed 
us ; as to my works I know them faulty, think 
them of worth only when they point and aid to 
that end. Close knowledge of our fellows, dis- 
cernment of the laws of existence, these lead to 
great civilization. I have supposed that the 
novel, exposing and illustrating the natural 
history of man, may help us to such sustaining 
roadside fflftrtnj na | from . 





With such an exalted view of the function of 
a novelist it is not surprising how hard he 
was to please, or. that one of the first manu- 
scripts he rejected was Mrs. Henry Wood's 
" East ' Lynne," of which he said: "Opinion 
emphatically against it." There is no room for 
doubt in his opinion here, and the publishers, 
acting on his advice, missed one of the most 
popular And successful books of the century. 
On the other hand, although he was not very 
enamoured of Anna Drury's novel " Misrepre- 
sentation," his opinion led the publishers to 
accept it. In his report upon it he left the 
publishers to ^decide for themselves. It ran : 
" If accepted, the title must be changed. I 
cannot recommend it, and though it will hardly 
bring us credit, it will not do much harm. I 
don't find stuff in the story. It does not appeal 
to * any special class ; it has no high literary 
pretensions. Still, it is pretty, pleasant, well- 
meaning, and full of a kindly heart and brain." 
The title was not altered, however, and the story 
was popular at the time, and made a name for 
its author, although to-day Anna Drury is little 
known to novel readers. 

In the same year two manuscripts were 
received from William Black, entitled respec- 
tively " Alec Grange " and " James Merle," 
probably his first attempts as a novelist, for 
his age would have been twenty at the time. 
Here is an instance of Mr. Meredith's ability 
for discovering talent in an author whose works 
he could not conscientiously recommend. Of 
the former he says : — 

" In its way very good — in the earlier part 
highly promising. I have not seen the con- 
cluding portion ; but it is but a thin thread 
of story I have got as yet. The author's 
mind evinces strong sense and poetic per- 
ceptions ; he has a remarkably clear style, 
and a power of giving soft pathetic touches, 
which I commend. He does not know much 
of life, nor has he the proper artistic feeling 
for the development of his characters in an 
interesting way. Write very encouragingly. 
Don't lose sight of him." 

His opinion of the latter was sent direct to 
the author in a letter. " Book will not do," he 
says : " but the author strongly encourage. 
A man on whom to keep an eye." Later the 
book was sent again, having been revised, but 
it was not recommended for publication. " James 
Merle" was not issued until three years later, 
and appeared as Wm. Black's first published 
novel, whilst " Alec Grange " does not seem to 
have been printed at all — at any rate, under 
that title. 

In the same year (1861) {here is still another 
interesting and important entry against a 
volume of Poems by Edwin Arnold : — 

" I should say this man will do something. 
The collection of poems here is not of sufficient 
weight to justify any speculation in the book. 
The translation in hexameter from Bion is 
especially good. He should' wait till he has 
composed a poem likely to catch the public 
ear. There is no distinct original mark in 
these poems : not enough to rely on." 

In 1862 there are only two notable incidents : 
a novel by " Ouida " entitled " Villiers," and one 
by Mrs. Lynn Linton entitled " Isola." each 
having opposite the entry the simple but 
peremptory word "Decline." Mr. Meredith 
evidently had no sympathy -with Mrs. Lynn 
Linton's opinions as expressed in her books. 
More than one novel was offered to the firm and 
promptly declined by him. Of the last sent to 
him in 1894 he said, " Very sour in tendency, 
hard in style. All forced, and exemplify the 
author's abhorrence of the emancipation of 
young females from their ancient rules. She 
has been doing this sort of thing in all directions. 
She has a Certain number of readers. There 
are also many who are repelled by her. It 
seems to me there would be very many who 
would not relish the book." 

During the 'sixties came two more manu- 
scripts by William Black which did not satisfy, 
although the author was again encouraged to 
go on, as was G. A. Henty, whose story " Frank 
Tressilor " was returned with instructions to 
" encourage the author to send any future work." 

A year or two later Mr. Thomas Hardy sub- 
mitted a manuscript entitled " The Poor Man 
and the Lady," but no opinion is on record. 
However, Mr. Hardy some time back referred 
to the incident, and it is to be assumed that 
although the MS. was not up to the mark, it 
exhibited to Mr. Meredith, as did those of 
Wm. Black, an ability and genius to be en- 
couraged which eventually matured and justified 
his interest in the author. It was Mr. Hardy's 
first novel, and has never been published, and 
its author has stated that only a fragment of 
the manuscript remains now. Mr. Hardy was 
invited to see the " reader " and had an inter- 
view in the offices of Chapman and Hall, in 
Piccadilly, when he received much good advice, 
he assured us, but advice, he added, that Mr. 
Meredith did not follow himself. 

Mr. Meredith was not only conscientious in 
his opinions, but was willing and anxious to give 
help and advice to authors whose books, although 
good, required some alteration, from his point 

by Google 

j 1 1 1 .* 1 1 1 




of view, to make it better ; or others which 
showed signs that encouragement to the author 
would be a good thing to give. 

Frequent references to the discovery of Olive 
Schreiner's " The Story of an African Farm," 
and the part Mr. Meredith took in helping the 
author to make it more worthy of success , have 
been made from time to time in the Press, 
There are three entries in connection with Ralph 
^Iron recorded : the, first in i38i r when a manu- 
script entitled " Saints and Sinners/' by Ralph 
Iron, is commented on unfavourably, but "Early 
part well written, " There is nothing to indicate 
that this is r * The Story of an African Farm M 
in its first state, although the title might serve 
for that book. In the next year "An African 
Farm," by Ralph Iron, has this instruction 
against it, " Return for revision/' and later it is 
sent again and accepted. I have seen it stated 
that Mr. Meredith called upon Olive Sehreiner, 
but I think it very unlikely, I remember 
Miss Schreiner calling at our office by appoint- 
ment to see Mr* Meredith on more than one 
occasion in connection with the book. However, 

his treatment of his books. This can be sup- 
plemented by Mr. Meredith's opinion as to the 
manuscri pts submitted. Of " A Song of Six^ 
pence, " he said, " Decline, But a clever man, 
who may do well. Send back with regrets and 
warm appreciation of its merits. Jl Of " A 
Deputy Providence/' he said : H ' It is readable 
—not up to the mark of Mr, Murray's promise ; 
but his name appears to be rising. He forwarded 
the MS. to me, and I returned it for some cor- 
rections.** Of " A Man of Genius." he outlines 
the plot in the following brief manner ; — 

4i It is readable. The situation has to be 
considered by you : The ' Man of Genius ' 
is a novelist in poor case, living with a young 
woman, who is an angel in temper, beauty, 
and sweetness, A friend who loves the girl 
urges him to marry her, He declines/ He 
besieges a married woman, who seems to be 
near yielding, but at their meeting next day 
dismisses him. He goes abroad, His friend 
proposes to the forsaken girl. She cannot 
accept him. The 'Man of Genius' returns 

titWa. fake* ** ti(t\&(Z*\ *"k*jv5Wi •*• *(~ 




the point is Mr + Meredith saw merit in the book, 
and, as was his custom with beginners, took 
unusual pains to give Miss Schreiner his help 
and advice, and that she readily and graciously 
accepted them. 

Many other instances of how Mr. Meredith 
•aw in an author's work the making of a good 
book, or indications of the author's ability, have 
been cited by the authors themselves. George 
Gissing. for instance, has told us how his 
first book, " The Unclassed/' was received by 
Mr. Meredith, and how he met him in Chapman 
and Hall's offices to talk over its shortcomings 
anil merits, and how Mr, Meredith made many 
suggestions for its improvement ; but in his 
second book he received still greater help. It 
was called " Isabel Claredon/' and I well 
remember it first coming in to the firm in three 
volumes of MS. It passed through Mr, Mere- 
dith s band two or three times, and when we 
finally decided to publish it, it had been reduced 
from three volumes to two. 

Henry Murray, in his book, " A Stepson of 
Fortune," has much to say of Mr* Meredith and 

Digitized by Cut 

in ghastly form. She welcomes him. They 
retire to rest together, and she lies thinking of 
her dead baby. There it ends + And such 
is the dish/* 

That is a fine summary in a nutshell, which 
a lengthy review could not convey more clearly* 
But although Mr. Meredith usually contrived 
to say what he wanted to in a sentence, he found 
it necessary or advisable to dwell in detail on 
certain manuscripts. Indeed, he would often 
enter into correspondence with an author t and 
spare no pains to make himself clear, as will be 
seen in the following quotations. 

To one lady he wrote ; — . 

11 The chief fault in your stories is the 
redundancy of words which overlays them ; 
and the chief hope visible in them is the 
copious youthful feeling running through 
them* Your characters do not speak the 
language of nature, and this is specially to be 
charged against them when they are under 
strong excitement and should most do so* 



Nor are the characters very originally coo- 
ceived, though there is good matter in the old 
Welshman, C. Rees. Your defect at present 
lies in your raw feeling. Time will cure this, 
if you will get the habit of looking resolutely 
at the thing you would portray, instead of 
exclaiming about it and repeating yourself 
without assisting the reader on in any degree. 
We certainly think that you are a hopeful 
writer, and possibly we have been enough out- 
spoken to encourage you to believe us sincere 
in saying so." 

The lady evidently replied and offered her 
opinion on the criticism, for a further letter was 
•ent her from Piccadilly. 

"Madam/* it ran; "You speak of the 
exclamatory style as being, you think, 
essentially and naturally feminine. If you 
will look at the works of the writer of ' Adam 
Bede ' you will see that she, the greatest of 
female writers, manifests nothing of the sort. 
It is simply a quality of' youth, and you by 
undertaking to study will soon tame your 
style. Interjections are commonly a sign of 
raw thought, and of vagrant emotion : a 
literary hysteria to which women may be 
more subject than men ; but they can talk 
in another tongue, let us hope. We are 
anxious that you should not be chagrined by 
any remarks that we "have made. There is 
real promise in your work ; but remember 
that the best fiction is fruit of a well trained 
mind. If hard study should kill your creative 
effort, it will be no loss to the world|or to you. 
And if on the contrary, the genius you possess 
shcAild survive the process of mental labour, 
it will be enriched and worthy of a good rank. 
But do not be discouraged by what we say ; 
and do not listen to the encomiums of friends. 
Read the English of the Essayists ; read 
de Stendhal (Henry Beyle), in French; Heinrich 
Zchokke, in German (Minor Tales). Learn 
to destroy your literary offspring remorse- 
lessly until you produce one that satisfies your 
artistic feeling." 

A year or two later he addressed the same 
lady in the following terms : — 

" The Reader of Miss J. H. 's tale 

of * Anwyl Anwyl ' presents his compliments 

to her, feeling profoundly guilty — for the 
blame of this long delay rests entirely upon 
him. He put the MS. aside after he h^d read 
it ; his intention was to write a long chapter 
on what to write, blot, and avoid; He can 
say in personal extenuation that Miss H. 
could not possibly have made any ' com- 
mercial ' use of the tale ; and that if she had 
published it, it would have done harm to her 

" The reader is in town on Thursday next, 
and, if it should please Miss H. to listen to 
few of his critical objections to her style 
perhaps he may be enabled to do her more 
good in that direction than if he attempted 
to write them down. Therefore, should she 
be willing to call at 193, Piccadilly, on 
Thursday, at four p.m., he will endeavour 
penitently to repair his shameful behaviour. . . . 

" If Miss H. should prefer to avoid vocal 
criticism it shall be written down, but it will 
possibly not be so effective, and it may seem 
more severe. 

" In making this proposal, the leader has 
taken an unusual course by which he trusts 
to be able to show his desire to expiate his 
previous carelessness." 

A writer for whose work -Mr. Meredith had 
real admiration, but who did not make a promi- 
nent name in literature, at any rate as a novelist, 
was Hannah Lynch. In the catalogue in the 
British Museum will be found many titles of 
novels, all of which are probably forgotten by 
now. But the present writer religiously collected 
ail she wrote, and found in them those qualities 
Mr. Meredith praised. Most of these, if not all, 
were submitted to the firm, but the only one 
published by it was " Rosni Harvey," in three 
volumes. Mr. Meredith always spoke well of 
her literary ability, but could never be persuaded 
that her books would ever become popular. Of 
" Daughters of Men " he said, " Clever writing. 
But there is not much story, and not enough of 
action in it to carry the reader's interest .... 
By all means encourage the lady. She has real 
powers." On sending the manuscript again 
revised, he could not discover that much had 
been done ; but " impress upon the lady her 
ability is appreciated." Of " Rosni Harvey " 
he said : — 

The lady has marked ability 

JU*b4*f$ &* \y»cuft»«l\*\ % **«** «wwi 



by Google 

Original from 




m ■ 

There is little incident, redundant dialogue, 
no drama .... though the dialogues seem 

tedious, they are well written. The authoress 
is a lady of power and observation Her 
failure lies in her not sufficiently taxing her^ 
invention. There is not any complexity. 
Consequently .... there is no narration : 

all is evolved by dialogues. ..... Many 

worse vols, of work than ' Kosni Harvey ' are 
published. But I am obliged to tell you that 
I do not think it would attract readers." 

A third novel, " A Prince of the Glades/ ' he 
described as an " Irish tale .... The writer's 
ability does not seem to me' to show so well in 
this instance. But the task of creating interest' 
in Fenianism would try the cleverest pen : and 
the hero has Fenian fever. It pains me to say 
that, though she always writes readably, the 
subject and cast of the story are not likely to 
win public attention. Impress upon her that 
you speak as publishers who have to look to 
remuneration for their ventures." 

There is no doubt Miss Lynch was an ex- 
tremely accomplished and clever writer who 
never happened to hit upon a theme in fiction 
worthy of her powers. She published other 
books which were well received, notably her 
appreciation of George Meredith, which, perhaps, 
is the best piece of criticism in many ways, as it 
was one of the first, on the novelist ; but we 
have reasons for knowing that she felt her 
failure to catch the public ear very keenly indeed. 

Another author for whose work Mr. Meredith 
had a great admiration was Major A. B. Ellis. 
The first book he sent in 1882, entitled " Isles 
of Indolence," did not meet with approval, but 
subsequently came "The Land of Fetish," 
" History of the First West Indian Regiment " 
(which had to go back' for the author to carry 
out suggestions made) ; " History of the Gold 
Coast " (" written with his plain but excellent . 
pen. I should be of an opinion that it would 
be a standard history of the Gold Coast and our 
possessions about them. It is the one book on 
the subject ") ; ancf books on " The Ewe," 
" The Tishi," and " The Yoruba-speaking People 
of the West Coast," all of which met with 
his whole-hearted commendation. Major Ellis 
also sent two volumes, entitled respectively 
" South African Sketches " and " West African 
Stories." Of the latter he said : " Good, charged 
with local colour ; not attractive to readers of 

romance, but curious, and the author's name as 
an authority with regard to those parts should 
help the book. If accepted, it must be with the 
stipulation that ' Mrs. Fizgibbon * be omitted. 
It is a sine qua non." If he had only added 
" James Peacock " also, how much better it 
would have been for author and publisher, and 
even for Mr. Meredith, too, for a West African 
trader named ^ James Pinnock saw himself in 
James Peacock, and brought an action for libel 
against the firm, and Mr. Meredith was called as a 
witness. The trial created a good deal of excite- 
ment at the time. The ex-Prime Minister appeared 
for the defendants and Sir Charles Russell (after- 
wards Lord Russell) for the plaintiff. Sir Charles 
Russell commenced by asking Mr Meredith if 
he had ever heard of Pinnock. He replied, 
" Not since the days of my youth, when I learnt 
his catechism." Mr. Meredith made a good 
witness, but the case went against the firm. His 
evidence, however, afforded Punch an excellent 
opportunity for a clever parody entitled " By 
George ! " 

Major Ellis, by the way, was a relative of 
Mr. Meredith, but we do not suggest this biased 
his opinion in any way. Indeed, it may be said 
that neither friendship, * animus, nor position 
influenced his judgment in the slightest degree. 

For instance, here is his opinion on a manu- 
script sent to him by a friend :— 

" On reading the MS. I was forced to the 
conclusion that I must not recommend it. 
Believe me, I regretted it ; for I admire and 
could love the writer. I say earnestly it will 
be better to put the work by : read, meditate, 
and wait to produce another. She will in 
time do good work, for she has a head and 
that which spins the blood to generous fire. 
But it is not friendly to urge her to publish. 
Moreover. I doubt her getting pay for it ... . 
She is too good to produce the popular rubbish : 
too young to hit higher moods." 

To another friend he writes : — \ 

" Your lexiconizing is clever, and I cannot 
go beyond it. But I would advise you strongly 
to renounce all classic compounds in a novel. 
They puzzle readers, irritate reviewers. Even 
when they come spontaneously, they, are 
suita le only to certain works of learned 
humorists. I wish success to your novel." 

rv v ^h Pnnn Original from 



The author evidently re-wrote the book, 
hoping to profit by Mr. Meredith's advice, for 
the following letter to him has been preserved : — 

" Your re-writing improved the book, but 
it could do little for the story, because of an 
inorganic conception. However, the book is 
full of honest good things, full of promise, and 
you have only to work deliberately upon a 
plan coming from heart and brain in nuptial 
union ; you will surely succeed. The matter 
is in you. I like the spirit of your verses, and 
they have a fine ring. Here again I would 
say, tie yourself to some special theme at 
present, and turn to generalizings and adjura- 
tions by and by. Preach not yet — I am 
ashamed to find myself doing it." 

If only all friends of budding writers were 
always as candid ! 

In the year 1889 a collection of letters of Jane 
Welsh and Thomas Carlyle were submitted by 
a gentleman " acting as trustee for others," and 
lip doubt was the collection published a few 
years back under the editorship of Sir James 
Crichton-Brpwne. Mr. Meredith's opinion on 
these will read with great interest : — 

" The authenticity will hardly be contested. 
But a proof of genuineness that rests so much 
on a capitulation of domestic trivialities 
is not a recommendation. The first three or 
four letters, those of Jane Welsh as a girl, 
paint her thoroughly in her enthusiasm. 
Further, the touches on this or that young 
man, and other people, show us it is she, and 
have in that their value. Then we come to 
letters at long intervals, of no mark, without 
connection, chiefly, when not entirely, per- 
taining to. commissions for the supply of 
household necessities. The account of the 
life at Cheyne Walk is thin by comparison 
with the published letters. 

M I much fear that a chorus of reviewers 
would cause the public to shun this collection. 
The little in them concerning Carlyle .would 
plead but poorly on their behalf. Carlyle's 
own letters are formal, quite in his tone, but 
with nothing of the inner man. 

" I wish I could give a better report. My 
expectations were lively, and I am disap- 
appointed. But if you can just see your way 
to remuneration I shall be glad." 

One of the most famous novels of its time was 
" The Heavenly Twins," which in the ordinary 
course was submitted to him for his opinion. 
The firm did not publish it for the reasons 
embodied in his report 

by Google 

" The author," he said, " is a clever woman, 
and has ideas ; for which reason she is ham 
pered at present in the be a novelist. 
Her characters have ideas, but are not made 
to express them, and are incapable of helping 
the story to move. Such story as there is 
pertains to their individual fortunes. There 
is no main current ; Evadne would kill a better 
work with her heaviness. It matters little 
what she does — she has her ideas ; the objec- 
tion is the tedium in the presentation of her. 
The writer should be advised to put this MS. 
aside until she has got the art of driving a 
story. She has ability enough, and a glimpse 
of humour here and there promises well for 
the future — if only she will practise, without 
thought of publishing until she can narrate 
and sketch credible' human creatures without 
harping on such traits as she gives them." 

Nor did John Oliver Hobbes's first book, 
" Some Emotions and a Moral," strike him in 
the same way as it afterwards did the critics : 
" Written with some power to exhibit the 
emotions of the sex — mainly in the form of 
wjums/' was all he had to say of it. 

A still more famous book of an earlier period 
also passed through his hands, and was dismissed 
with a " will not do." This was Samuel Butler's 
" Erewhon," and the author has told us in a 
preface to a recent edition of it how he " took 
the book to Messrs. Chapman and Hall on May 
1st, 1 871, and on their rejection of it, under th? 
advice of one who has attained the highest rank 
among living writers, I let it sleep till I took it 
to Mr. Trubner early in 1872. As regards its 
rejection by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, I believe 
their reader advised them quite wisely . • . . 
I hope ; if I had been their reader and the book 
had been submitted to myself, I should have 
advised them to the same effect." 

Mr. Meredith's interest in all that concerned 
Germany brought his mind to bear minutely on 
a book on Bismarck. Apart from the value of 
the criticism, as such, on the book, it incidentally 
exhibits his knowledge of the subject of the 
manuscript and his times : — 

" The anecdotal Biography of Bismarck 
would be promising if it were rather more put 
into shape. The reader is wearied with the 
gossipy harking forward and back. As there 
is nothing else of the kind at present, it is 
worth while for some trouble to be taken to 
describe the parts currently. First, * Bis- 
marck's struggle with the Prussian Chamber 
to get an increase of the array ; then the 
Bohemian campaign, rapidly, but in progres- 
sion ; then his difficulty with the King, to 




' prevent him from taking his conqueror's due 
of Austria — in view of the war with France 
to come. His dealings with Benedetti are 
very interesting. Two pages might be given 
to his management of the Treaty of Nikola- 
berg. Again with Benedetti before the war 
of 1870 — I don't know what use has been 
made of the book by Busch, or whether it is 
legally permissible to levy contribution on it. 
Look to that ... If you come to terms with 
the author of the Bismarck, I may be able to 
help with an anecdote or two, for which I can 

Nature books appealed to Mr. Meredith, but 
only if of real distinction. He appreciated 
Charles Dixon's ornithological books up to a 
point, but ultimately complained that he wrote 
too much. He had admiration for the works 
of Robert C. Leslie. "A Sea Painter's Log," 
" A Waterbiography," " Old Sea Wings, Ways, 
and Words," " The Sea Boat "—all met with 
his full appreciation. " Excellent and pleas- 
antly suggestive you are safe in this 

writer's hands," he wrote of one of them, and of 
another : "I have an esteem for this writer's 
work. The present one has permanent value, 
and is interesting, besides useful, to read by 
yachtsmen and the general public " ; and of a 
third he said : " I find it interesting and readable 
.... Mr. Leslie writes of fresh or salt water 
and of boats in a way to create interest in all 
classes of readers, young or old." 

He delighted in W. H. Hudson's nature books, 
and recommended " A Naturalist in La Plata " 
as " Excellent, well observed or gathered — 
instructive " ; of another he wrote : " Instruc- 
tive and pleasant to read. There is a taste for 
books of this kind . . • . the present writer 
has a manner of his own and a known 

Mr. Hudson — a fact, not generally known, I 
believe — joined the ranks of the novelists during 
the " three volume " days, and two of his novels 
were submitted to Mr. Meredith, neither of 
which he could recommend, although one, 
which was published by the firm v under a 
pseudonym had " good points — shows an ob- 
server of exterior London life. But he is not a 
creator. (The heroine) is a good girl, too good. 
Some scenes of the ' tempers ' of women are true 
to life. A long work, with a mass of dialogue, 
little incident." 

The chief character of the other ' ultimately 
appeared in a now popular and clever book of 

the author, at any rate so far as the name is 
concerned and sets one wondering if the books 
are identical. 

And so in the course ef his connection with 
the publishers, Mr. Meredith must have read 
hundreds of MSS., good, bad, and indifferent. 
As a rule his reports were short, couched in a 
sentence, laconic, witty, or sarcastic, but always 

Here are a few specimens culled at random : — 
Feebler stuff than this might be written, 
but would tax an ape. 

According to the dates given this was done 
in a month. It has no other merit. 

Written in a queer old maundering style, 
poor stuff, respectable in the mouth of one's 
grandmother. He may have something to 
say, but he harps on the platitudes familar to 
the ears of infancy. 

It reads like a boy's nightmare dream and 
written by a boy. 

Dreariness of verse has hardly ever surpassed 
this collection. 

Elaborately done, with index to contents 
of chapters. After going through some and 
running over the others, I found the index to 
. be preferable. 

Weak wild stuff. MS. looking as a survival 
. of a dozen shipwrecks. 

Anstey might have made the subject amus- 
ing. This writer is an elephant. Such themes 
can only be made interesting when they arte 
treated airily. 

This is laughable enough in MS. But in 
print the ridicule would fall upon the put* 

Poor story of the French Terror. Historical 
portraiture befitting the pen of an urchin fifty 
years back. ___ 

Must be accused of every defect that goes 
to make a work of fiction unreadable .... 
it is cursed_with an itch at times to try the 
rhetorical swell upon the lowest vernacular. 

Would seem to have been written in sighs 
of languor. 

Called "humorous" by the author. Cock- 

neyish dialogue, gutter English, ill-contrived 

incidents done in daubs, maintain the assertion. 

A tale reading as if told by a romantic 

grandmother of the present generation. 

Absurd in point of style, which is that of a 

Of a history of Bread he observed : " The 
subject could hardly be lively, but the writer 
might have given it more yeast." 



iir+AAvL y***(r, 9 Ar h*a *«* «us 




• Author of "In Action" " Bat t lew rack*" etc. 

Illustrated ty W. R. S. Stott. 

CHTUNG!" said a sergeant, 
gruffly. " Less noise there ! " 
The irregular trench, tra- 
versed at short intervals, was 
choked with close-packed men, 
above whose deep - helmeted 
heads a bayonet glinted faintly 
here and there in the twilight. 
The first stars were beginning to appear in 
a night that would be moonless. Non-com- 
missioned officers pushed their way through 
the throng, verifying the equipment of their 
men, emphasizing final warnings and instruc- 
tions. The men stood in stolid silence, their faces 
haggard and dirty under the deep helmets 
which all but hid them, the faded grey of their 
uniforms yellow with, mud where a sergeant's 
torch flashed on' them for a moment. They 
shivered in the chill of the evening. Some 
coughed nervously. All were obviously tense, 

Every man in the trench wore the same 
serious, determined expression. The methodi- 
cal precision of their movements spoke of 
.long habit in the performance of tasks 
whose gravity was capital. Death, in a few 
minutes, would be only warded off by the death 
they dealt ; might strike them blindly even 
then, despite their most scientific precaution. 
Vet there was no revolt on the faces of these 
men. They\were set in a gloomy fatalism 
that overrode the tremors of the quivering 
body, the fatalism of men inured to the un- 
challengeable caprice of the Death that ruled 
their world and lurked, at all times ready to 
swoop, beyond the sandbagged wall. Sooner 
or later, in one of countless ways, it would 
strike. However many perils they had sur- 
vived, they were hopeless of any other end. 
A peace rumour had long ceased to be other 
than a subject for savage mockery. The war 
was an eternity that had claimed their temporal 
lives. Yet was the instinct undiminished to 
fight to the last for their continuance. 

There was however a special bitterness in 
their sombre souls as they prepared for the 
night's work. 

" Diese verfiuchte Amerikaner I " said one 
of them suddenly, in a tone of murderous 
hatred, as he tested the edge of his trench- 
knife against the palm of his hand. " Without 

them ! " 

A growl of unanimity went up from the 
close rank between the traverses. 

" Silence there I " said a sergeant, in a 

Copyright, 1918, 

by LiOOglC 

sharp, low voice." " You, Miiller I You'll have 
a shell into us ! " { 

The man addressed grumbled to himself as 
he put the knife into its sheath, yet fully aware 
of the justice of the inhibition. 

The night was deadly quiet. From these 
American trenches which, after a brief hurricane 
bombardment, they were going to raid, came 
no sound. The slightest noise from them would 
have been significant to their ears, strained 
to a more intense pitch of acuteness than they 
realized. Far back behind them a gun spoke 
with a gruff double report, a shell came whining 
dolorously overhead. The sharp crack of a 
rifle somewhere along the trench was followed 
by the hammer-tap of a machine-gun. These 
sounds left no register on their consciousness ; 
they were part. of their habitual environment, 
as normal as the song of birds to the plough- 
man. Their attention was focused on those 
silent trenches, masked by the near sandbag 
wall, which they knew awaited them at the 
other side of the desolate, shell-pitted stretch 
beyond the tangled wire — was held in suspense 
for the commencement of that furious bom- 
bardment whose cessation would be the signal 
for the plunge. 

A flare went up from somewhere along the 
line, the first of the evening. The enemy's ? 
The signal for the artillery ? They waited, 
holding their breath. The silence continued. 

The officer in charge of the raiding party 
stood, restless and anxious, in the angle of a 
traverse.* From time to time he glanced at 
his watch and, as he raised the phosphorescent 
dial close to his face, Miiller could see his boyish 
countena nee faintly illumined in the glow. 

Suddenly there was a murmur of voices - 
farther along the trench out of sight. A 
runner emerged from it as he squeezed himself 
round the traverse, rushed up to the officer. 

" Herr Leutnant 1 Herr Leutnant 1 A mes- 
sage — from battalion headquarters I " 

Though spent with what had evidently been 
an effort of speed through the obstructed 
trenches, he saluted as he handed over the 
$ envelope. 

The lieutenant tore it open, flashed his lamp 
cautiously upon the sheet. Then his bead 
jerked up in a wild cry, a laugh that was not 
the laugh of mirth but, apparently, of delirium. 
The men. set their teeth in savage wrath at 
this reckless drawing of the enemy fire. 

" Peace ! " he cried. " Peace I All offen- 
sive operations are cancelled. It's all over I " 

by F. Britten Austin 

u I I I ■_» I I I 


He laughed boisterously, vacuously, like a 
man whose mind has been overthrown, w The 
war is over I Peace is signed ! Do you hear ? " 
He yelled it at them as though exasperated 
at their apathy. The rank of men did not 
move ; stared at him with the respect the 
Carman army enforces towards an officer even 
if he is plainly lunatic. The officer pulled 
himself together, reassumed the normal tone 
of curt authority. " Sergeant, the sentries 
will be posted as usual. No man is to be allowed 
out of the trenches. No shot is to be fired 
except under the direct orders of an officer. 
White flags are to be hoisted above the parapet 
at fifty yurds interval. White flares will be 
sent up frequently until the enemy has dis- 
played similar flags. The strictest discipline 
will be maintained in your section." 

The sergeant saluted. 

" Zti Befehl. Ilerr Leutncmt.' 1 

The officer hurried round the traverse, dis- 
appeared. The sergeant stared after h 
Then, with a deep breath, he turned to his 

" So t " he said, " Da fc/'j / ,J 

They looked at him from their unbroken 
rank in silence. This was incredible— fantastic 
The end of the war! Like this— without 
warning— at any moment when the attack 
was ready to spring ? The end ? Peace ? 
—Reprieve ? The genuine ring of the curt 
orders compelled a credence refused to the wild 

" Mein Goit t " Muller heard the ejaculation 
before he realized it was his own. This 

it appalled him. The thing was too big to 
grasp. The others exchanged furtive 1 
vnder their helmets, each trying to m 
himself on his comrade. They shuffled awk- 
wardly, glanced sheepishly towards the sergeant 
at a loss for word or act Their presence I 
was suddenly bereft of purpose. An epoch of 
timeless age had come to an end, The new had 
not yet begun. 

A ragged cheer at a httle distance along 
trench whither the officer had disappeared 
sounded an awakening note of reality. The 
sergeant rose to this historic mi 




** You think you can do "as you like now, I 
suppose ! " he said, with the jeering brutality 
of the petty tyrant. He glared at the patient 
squad as .at so many victims, was about to 
continue when he stopped — cocked his ear. 

Far back a gun had boomed. They lieard 
the wailing ' passage of the shell with a new 
acuteness — a sudden terror/ a sickening collapse. 
Not true after all ? A dream ? Madness of 
the Leutnant ? They listened, fixed . in their 
attitudes, in an agony of apprehension — second 
after second. No other detonation followed. 
There was no sound from the enemy trenches. 
The silence was unbroken. They did not even 
hear the shell explode. They strained their 
ears. Not a gun spoke in all the wide night. 
They had heard the last shell. The memory of 
its sear across the dark sky was suddenly vivid 
in them with its full significance — the last ! 

The man Mulier filled his lungs as with a new 
atmosphere. Something seemed to drop away 
from him,' The savage who had fingered the 
knife, who had lusted for blood, was suddenly 
foreign to him. He felt bewildered. A vast 
pendulum on which he had been swinging for 
an endless time had suddenly stopped. His 
ijret sensation was of an immense; a crushing 
fatigue. Sleep — oblivion ; it was 3tn imperative 
need of his being. To-morrow he would face 
this overwhelming fact* Sleep— unbroken by 
alarms-»-s6 much- he „ grasped , from this im- 
measurable boon that had at last descended 
upmija world' grown seeptic of its appearance. 

It- was not to " be. He heard the sergeant 
detailing his men, found himself assigned to 
sfHitry-duty. The others stumbled off to execute 
their orders, returned itfith the articles they had 
been told toJfetcli. 

Farther along the trench the white lights 
were already soaring up, amid wild shouts, 
tumultuous cheers. They also cheered — cheered 
like madmen, intoxicated with their own 
clamour, in an overmastering frenzy that gushed 
from the bottom of their souls, their loudest 
vociferation- yet inadequate to express this 
vast relief they were now beginning to com- 
prehend — as their first flag was planted upon 
the parapet, showing sharply silhouetted above 
their heads iu the brilliance of the first flare. 
Mulier caught himself half expecting a rush of 
excited Americans into their trench, cordial 
handshakes, mutual enthusiasm. 

But flare after flare soared into a night that 
echoed no cries but their own. The American 
trenches lay silent out of sight, firing no shot, 
uttering no sound. A regularly spaced row of 
flapping flags now surmounted the parapet, 
were illuminated by incessantly soaring, curving 
flares. The sky was white into the far distance 
on either hand with a radiance of similar origin. 
Still the American trenches gave no sign of life. 
The German soldiers crowded on to the firestep, 
gazed towards them with eager curiosity. A 
row of flags, reflecting whiteness as they fluttered 
in the ( blanched glare of the falling lights, 
surmounted them also, were the sole evidence 
of occupation. 

Exasperated by this obstinate silence, a 


German soldier seized a megaphone, shouted 
with all his lungs across to them in English : — * 

" Hi ! .You Americans ! It's peace ! peace I " 

There was a pause. Then a megaphoned 
reply came booming across : " We know. We 
won't hurt you ! " 

Baffled by the sarcasm, the German soldiers 
renounced the attempt at conversation, con- 
gregated in little groups to excited talk among 
themselves. What they were going to do when 
they returned home — it was one theme with 
infinite variations. 

Mulier stood at his post, breast-high above 
the parapet, gazing across that strip of ground 
which so long had lain under the ban of terror, 
scarce to be spied into, to be entered only 
furtively by the grace of a precarious darkness, 
death cheated at every moment of sojourn.- 
Though the menace was removed, its^ desolate 
solitude was still sinister. In all the months 
and years of war how many multitudes had 
surged across it, uniformed in the fashion of the 
moment, shouting in the different tongues of 
many lands, their faces contorted with the 
passion and the fear of the death-conflict ; how 
many had been annihilated in the spasm of 
their own murderous thrust, how many had 
flung up their arms in one wild cry upon a woman 
despairfully vivid for them, how many had 
wrestled desperately — body to body — for a 
dear life that was denied ; how many had 
lingered, inexorably doomed, through the eterni- 
ties of blazing^ sun, of frost-chilled nights, hung 
on the tangled wire whose hold they could not 
loosen, prone in the shell-holes they could not 
scale 1 

It lay now in an uncanny silence after its long 
torment of vicious shell-bursts, of every kind of 
violent detonation, a place of horror abandoned 
to its dead. The last cry had ceased from the 
trenches which enclosed it ; the last flare had 
spluttered into darkness. 

Mulier shuddered in a sudden, unwontedljr 
acute perception of the dreadful futility of it all. 
Solitary there in the night, he was appalled* with 
the magnitude of the destruction which had been 
wrought. His mind revolted from it. Peace ! 
He breathed a sigh of thankfulness — a thankful- 
ness which ignored responsibility and retribution. 
He thought of his own home in the German 
manufacturing town, of the harmless interests 
he had forgotten. An immense longing for 
comradeship welled up in him : a comradeship 
that should know no distinction of race or speech, 
a comradeship that was the full reaction from 
this bitter enmity in which he had lived so long. 
He glanced across to the silent American trenches, 
their regularly-spaced flags darkly silhouetted 
against the luminous blue-black of the horizon, 
and longed for dawn and the human confirmation 
of the pact. 

He had been relieved, had had some two hours 
of sleep when the trench awoke again to life in 
the first grey of the morning. He opened his 
eyes with the haunting consciousness of some 
great happening just over the rim' of memory, 
the vague sense of a destiny recently and 
definitely changed. His partially roused brain 




could not at first recall the circumstances, was 
baffled by a feeling that he had awakened to 
just such an emotion once before in his life. He 
fixed on that feeling of the. past as a clue to 
the present, queried possibilities. The morning 
of an attack ? A cold thrill ran through him, 
his stomach sank, at this only too apt probability. 
Then, in a sudden revulsion, the truth flooded 
in on him. Peace I Wonderful — miraculous — 
peace ! A pertinaciously scientific little portion 
of his mind at the same moment identified the 
previous emotion with which he had felt the 
analogy — it had been his wedding-morning. And 
now the two memories coalesced and reinforced 
each other — peace, his wife — home I 

" Mein Gott I " he murmured, staring straight 
before him without stirring from his niche in 
the parapet of the trench. " Lottchen ! — die 
Kinder ! " He stared at his rose-hung house 
that he had left — how many ages ago ? — on 
that hot summer morning, saw Lottchen in tears 
turning away from him, snatching up the 
youngest-born in a passionate gesture of despair, 
as he waved farewell. He. was overwhelmed 
with this incredible certainty that he would 
return to it — to happihess-r-permanently. He 
felt like a man" waking from a vivid dream of 
the condemned cell, . execution imminent," to 
reassurance of continued. life. ■ A great gush of 
affection for his wife was unsealed in him. He 
yearned out. to her, to the children, to home. 
He visualized his return ; thought, with a little 
glow of vanity, how proud she would be of him 
with his Iron Cross, with his participation in so 
many victories. It was something after all to 
bave fought in the war. Now, of course, the 
tiling to do (his mind reverted to the Americans 
in their trenches) was to shake hands, to start 
business again. He did not know the terms of 
peace, but he felt comfortably certain that a 
German who had fought brilliantly against so 
many embattled nations was assured of the 
respectful admiration of the entire world. 
\ These thoughts were cut short by the clamour 
of voices, the rush of many feet just outside. 
The company was failing in. He rose, stiff with 
rheumatism, from his earthen couch. 
- At first, despite the murmured protests of 
the men, they were not allowed to leave the 
trench. The officers awaited orders. Over the 
parapet they could see groups of slouch-hatted 
Americans interring the dead on their side of 
the No Man's I-and. From the long row of 
eagerly curious German faces who watched them 
• came , a . continual shouting of English words 
that elicited no response. .Muiler found himself 
searching his memory for scraps of that vocabu- 
lary he had learned in a short stay in England, 
years before. He craved to take part also in 
this "demonstration of friendliness, impelled 
perhaps by an obscure desire to" make quite sure 
that. this new era of peace applied to him the 
individual, that his personal danger was past. 
He felt jealous of the man on his right who 
insisted on explaining to him that he had lived 
faiany years in America, and that he was going 
back to his old friends and business. 

" Ach, Miiller/' said the soldier. " America I 

by K^Q 


What is that for a country ? It is a freedom 
you have no idea of. No interfering police. No 
conscription. No crushing taxes. No officers 
treating you like a dog. Nothing to prevent 
you thinking what you like, saying what you 
like, doing what you like — except, of course, 
that you cannot commit crimes as you like 
Plenty of money. The first year I made " 

" J a, weiss schon," said Miiller, curtly. " And 
, you are going back, Kdnnecke ? " 

" Sure thing I " replied his comrade, in Ameri- 
can ; then, in German : "I take the first 
steamer back after I am demobilized." 

At that moment an Unterofnzier came along 
and gave permission for the men to leave the 
trench. They also were to bury the dead in 
the neutral ground. The Germans streamed out 
through lanes snipped in the rusty wire, leaving 
their weapons behind them. For the first few 
moments in the open they realized anew that 
impressive, continuing silence of the guns, were 
awed into hushed voices, their movements 
furtive in the strangeness of this unthreatened 
exposure among the shell-holes at which yester- 
day they could not have dared a direct glance. 

The Americans continued to work on their 
side of the ground, glancing towards the "approach- 
ing Germans with a brief laugh and word among 
themselves as they delved among the heaps of 
earth. Konnecke went straight towards ,them, 
arid Muiler felt that he could not do # better 
than to attach himself tx> this; experienced 
ambassador. He wondered what would be that 
first word from their late j adversaries which^ 
with . Teutonic sentimentality, he felt would 
typify the resumption, of international relations. 
A compliment on their rnilitary prowess ? He 
prepared himself for a courteous reception of 
this most probable salutation, .• framed for 
utterance an elegant phrase of reciprocal esteem, 

Konnecke headed directly towards, a tall non- 
commissioned officer who stood superintending 
the excavation of a long grave. Muiler followed 
close behind his comrade. • . 

" Howdy, sergeant I " • said K6nnecke, con- 
fidently, in his best American accent. ".Guess 
you'll be glad to get quit of this undertaking 
business ? " 

The American favoured him with just the 
smallest fraction of a glance under his eyelid. 
" No," he replied, coolly, " I'd bury quite a lot 
more of you." 

The German was disconcerted by the level, 
unemotional tone of the snub. Nevertheless he 
grinned in a fashion meant to be ingratiating. 
Muller's high anticipation sank. After his 
imagined heroics this matter-of-fact reception 
was humiliating. He resented this cool barri — 
of reserve, was exasperated into a blind desi 
to penetrate it. At the back of his mind w 
the explanation that the American was too dr 
to appreciate the wonderful qualities of t 
German soldier. Konnecke spoke again befc 
he could finish his slow preparation of a fittin 

" Reckon you'll be sure glad to get back t 
the old States," he ventured, renewing h 
grin. " This is no country for a white w& 




—say now. ' He glanced over the desolation 
of the No Man's Land. 

The American also glanced over his environ- 

" That's so," he agreed. 

" I'm going back myself/' pursued Konnecke. 
" First steamer that leaves Hamburg — back 
to my store in Cincinnati. I'm going right 
back to God's own country — a sure-enough 
American citizen first thing you know." 

The Ajnerican turned slowly on his heel 
and faced the grinning German. He surveyed 
him deliberately from head to foot. Konnecke 
waited complacently through the pause, as 
though expecting a pat on the back. 

" You're some optimist ! " said the American, 
grimly. With an abrupt movement he seized 
Konnecke by the shoulder, spun him rour»d 
so that he looked down the dreary vista between 
the trenches. The battle-lines in this area 
had met in a village, but of that village there 
was nothing^more than a few heaps of pulver- 
ized brick scarcely to be remarked on the nakei 
desolation of the ridge. M See here ! " c<?n- 
turned the American, with a sudden viciousness 
in his tone, pointing to that obliterated village. 
" Thai's you I I guess the States can get on 
very well without you." 

He released his grasp so brusquely, that 
Konnecke, dazed by this sudden hostility, 
stumbled and all but fell. The American 
strode off. Muller looked after him for a 
moment, then, on a sudden impulse to put 
himself right with the world — personified at 
this instant by the American non-commis- 
sioned officer — followed him and overtook him. 
His virtuous indignation was a stimulus to his 
remembranqe of the English tongue. 

"Stop, sergeant," he cried. The American 
swung round, disdainfully awaited what he had 
to say. Muller had his first sentence glib. 
" You are not just to us," he said. " Germany 
fought to defend herself against a ring of jealous 
enemies. We did not start it. Has not our 
Kaiser said it always ? But our victories — 

surely they entitle us to— to " he faltered, 

trying to think of the English for " our place 
in the sun/* 

The grey eyes of the American abashed him 
with their steady scrutiny. 

" You've hit it, Mister Boche," he said, 
deliberately. " It's just them victories. This 
world ain't safe with a crowd in it that makes 
so darned sure of victories as you do. We've 
quit fighting. But I guess if you're calculating 
on shaking hands and kissing all round, you're 
in error. No, sir — the best thing you can do 
is to beat it to a quiet corner and sit there, and 
maybe in- about a hundred years folk'll have 
forgotten about your dirty spies and all your 
mean underhand ways. Maybe folk'll forget 
about the women and children and old men 
you shot. Maybe folk'll forget about the 
wounded men you drowned, the villages and 
'.owns;, that ain't no more now than a bit of 
hell on earth. Maybe folk'll forget about 
Belgium and the Lusitania and all the rest. 
Maybe some day folk'll be able to think of a 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

Boche without turning sick. Bat that ain't 
now — and America has got no use for a crowd 
like you. We just want to forget you. And 
I guess your other Europeans feel the same 
way about it." 

He spat, as though in disgust at having been 
betrayed into such loquacity, turned once 
more on his heel and strode off. 

Muller stood watching him like a man half- 
stunned. On this first wonderful morning 
every incident was pregnant with significance, 
and this sentence of banishment, though it 
came but from the mouth of a non-commis- 
sioned officer of their late enemies, was 
delivered with such reasoned deliberation, such 
calm superiority, as, to impress him vividly. 
He felt suddenly homeless, friendless in a hostile 
world. He tried to banish the uncomfortable 
feeling. They — all the other millions qn this 
planet — could not possibly decree an effective 
ostracism of the entire German people ! The 
idea was absurd. He looked towards the crowd 
of his comrades insinuating themselves per- 
tinaciously among the tall, soft-hatted Americans, 
and marked with resentment the contemptuous 
downward glance upon the round cap of the 
bullet-headed, under-sized figure no longer lurking 
behind his machine-gun in an entrenchment. He 
thought of the splendid fellows who had marched 
to war with him in the early days, was impelled 
to cry out in protest that these Germans were not 
typical, that the manhood of Germany was dead 
upon its battlefields. The behaviour of these 
degenerates filled him with bitter anger. Accept- 
ing no rebuff, making the most of the monosyllabic 
replies they received, they ventured to laugh, 
to become loquacious, determined to extort 
friendliness even though servility were the 
price of it. " No use for a crowd like you ! " 
the phrase haunted him with its terrible accent 
of sincerity. After all the sacrifices — all the 
blood and tears — this ! Hatred he could have 
accepted with pride, would have been a tribute 
— but this disdain that denied even contact I 
A cold fear invaded him. 

Georg Muller leaned back in the corner of 
a first-class railway carriage. He was in civi- 
lian clothes — the same suit in which he had 
reported himself to the depot on the first 
morning of mobilization, years back. To-day 
he wore them again for the first time. The 
last demonstration of the wonderful military 
machine of which for so long he had formed 
part was to hand him back, neatly ticketed, 
that once familiar suit of clothes which now 
looked so strange. It hung loosely upon him ; 
was no longer fashionable. But he wore it 
with a sense of luxury. This civilian attire 
was the outward and visible sign of his emanci- 
pation from the servitude which had crushed 
his individuality so long. He felt like a 
prisoner released from jail, returned to the 
world of the living, where his personal inclina- 
tion once more had scope. A new life was 
beginning for him, a life that had been in sus- 
pense from that wonderful evening in the trenches 
when, all unexpectedly, the end had come. 

Original from 





Leaning back, with closed eyes, he recapitu- 
lated the event— slurring over the episode 
of the American sergeant's rebuff which per- 
sisted, not to be abolished, in his memory — 
tasting once more the joy of marching away 
for ever from that ghastly battlefield -angry 
once again at the suddenly kostile attitude of 
the French population in their concentration 
area ; it had been impossible to purchase any 

by Google 

of the ordinary dainties of life, and a strict 
order had enforced the utmost correctness nf 
demeanour towards these surly hosts no longer 
constrained to courtesy —thrilling once more 
with the jubilant enthusiasm of the train-load 
of soldiers returning to the Fatherland —hitter 
at the hmfi administrative delavs which h,ul 
adjourned their final demobilization. But now 
it was all over. He was liimseH once more^ 

Original from 



no longer a mere number in fieid-grey, but a 
husband and father hurrying back to his wife 
and children. 

Once more he was to take up the task of 
earning a livelihood for them. This thought 
appeared suddenly at the tail of his idle reverie 
as it had recurred again and again in every 
quiet moment since the first morning of peace." 
Work and earn ! It was a necessity that would 
bear no postponement. His little capital had 
almost all been spent in keeping his family 
alive during the famine prices of the years of 
wan He would have to start afresh. Once 
more, as he had done' a do$en times already 
on the journey, he drew from his pocket a letter 
from the director of the factory where he had 
been works manager. 

" Dear Muller," it ran, " I much regret that I 
cannot give you an idea of when we shall re- 
open. We find it absolutely impossible to 
procure raw material, and even if we could get 
it our foreign agents inform us that it is hopeless 
to expect to trade until the prejudice against 
us is abated. It is a terrible situation. The 
working classes here are almost desperate. You 
may rest assured that at the first opportunity 
we shall again avail ourselves of your services 

Muller re-read the letter, though long ere this 
he could have repeated it word for word. But 
in the uncertainty of his prospects his mind 
derived a gloomy satisfaction from this definite 
negative. What could he do ? Emigrate to 
America ? He remembered the American ser- 
geant's words, the cold aloofness of the. American 
troops, and rejected the idea. The situation 
was serious. He counted over his slender 
resources with a feeling of regret that he had 
ceded to the extravagant impulse to take a 
first-class ticket. He had not been able to 
resist the fascination — after all these years of 
cattle-trucks and third-class carriages — of travel- 
ling first-class as of old. It had seemed to him 
the re-establishment of his identity. 

He put away the letter, picked up a news- 
paper. The first heading to catch his eye was 
" The Raw-Materials Crisis," in fat Gothic type. 
The article dealt at length and plaintively with 
the terrible disadvantage of German industry 
in its contest with competitors who, during the 
war, had seized the principal sources of raw 
materials throughout the world. An adjacent 
column described another crisis : " The Crisis 
in Shipping/' and bewailed the fact that it was 
impossible to find cargo-space for the millions 
of tons of ready-manufactured goods which 
Germany had waiting for export. It showed 
statistically the immense diminution of the 
volume of the world's shipping since August, 

" They can thank their damned U-boats for 
that," commented Muller with a curiously 
impersonal bitterness. He dissociated himself 
completely from those governing classes over 
whom he had no control, was rancorously hostile. 

The train stopped at an important station. 
He left his hat on his seat to mark his pro- 
prietorship and went out into the corridor. A 

by Google 

minute later he turned to see an imposing 
Oberst in full uniform, accompanied by a silk- 
hatted, frock-coated civilian — obviously a func- 
tionary of some sort — entering his compartment. 
Through the window he saw the colonel unbuckle 
his sword and throw it on the rack and then 
coolly remove the hat from the seat, preparatory 
to sitting in the corner. In a moment he had 
reentered the compartment. 

" Pardon, Herr Oberst," he said, politely, " but 
that seat is occupied." 

The colonel glared at him. 

11 Sit. somewhere else 1 " he replied, harshly, 
and prepared to take possession. 
' A blind fury surged up in the ex-soldier, the 
accumulated fury of countless brutalities hitherto 
unresented. He sprang at the officer, gripped 
his wrist' in a hand of steel, and flung him 
violently out of the seat. 

" I do not choose to," he said. His eyes met 
the colonel's in a glare of cold hatred that was 
almost insane in its sudden vehemence. 

With a wild»oath the officer leaped for his 
sword. He found himself once more powerless 
in an inexorable grip, forced down to a seat. 
Almost speechless with rage he noted the close- 
cropped head of his adversary, recognized him 
for a demobilized soldier. 

" Choose ! " he cried. " You think you can 
do as you like now, I suppose ! — I'll teach you ! 
Dog ! " 

Muller smiled grimly at this plagiarism of his 
sergeant's historic remark, this naive avowal of 
the standpoint of the ruling caste. With a new- 
found dignity he resumed his own seat. He felt 
curiously elated, as though he had burst some 
secret chain about his life, the elation of the 
suddenly-inspired pagan who has overthrown 
his gods. * The colonel continued to glare at 
him malevolently, muttering to himself the 
while. Muller ignored him. The train had 
started. The next stop was his destination, 
would end the episode. 

The colonel commenced a conversation with 
his civilian companion, and almost immediately 
the name of his native town awakened the ex- 
soldier's attention. Hidden behind his news- 
paper, he listened with a growing interest that 
speedily became acute. Apparently there was 
grave industrial trouble — wilful damage to 
shops and factories — mobs clamouring for work 
and food — rioting. He deduced that the civilian 
was a Government commissioner, the Oberst a 
newly-appointed military commandant of the 
area ; both on a mission to suppress the trouble. 
With increasing alarm he heard them mention 
various localities that had been sacked. Thank 
God ! his own house was in a suburb of the town. 
In all probability Lottchen and the children 
would not be molested. He let his mind dwell 
on the dear ones he had not seen for so many 
months. Another half an hour and he would 
be clasping them to his breast. 

He looked out of the window and watched 
with impatience the countryside that seemed to 
roll back so slowly, pivoting on distant trees 
and churches. Here and there were factories 
in a cluster. He noted that no smoke came 

Original from 

■Jfc »^»«r*J 



I \ 

from any of their chimneys. A few miserable* 
looking women were working in the fields, but 
generally the view was deserted. This emptiness 
of the landscape impressed him unpleasantly ; 
the entire countryside seemed to be under a ban. 
His mind reverted tp a clumsy schoolboy 
visualization of an Interdict ; came back from 
it to the present. If the rest of the world had 
excommunicated the German — as it seemed — 
they would soon be fighting murderously among 
themselves for the means of existence, like 
marooned criminals on a desert island ! He 
revolted from the prospect. He was utterly 
weary of strife. Peace — peace ! He craved for 
it with all his soul. The war was a nightmare 
he wanted only to forget. 

The train pulled up at his destination, stopped. 
He noticed an unusually large group of policemen 
on the platform as he descended from his com- 
partment. A moment later he heard the voice 
of 'the Oberst behind him, shouting to attract 
attention. Involuntarily he glanced round, saw 
himself pointed at by the officer. 

"Arrest that man!" cried the colonel. 
" Insult to the uniform I" 

A policeman clutched at him. Muller flung 
him off in a wild, reckless revolt. He would not 
be stayed thus on the threshold of his home. 
He found himself fighting furiously with a group. 
Overpowered, he sank under a stunning blow 
from a sheathed sword. 

Three policemen dragged him to his feet, 
haled him along the platform in the wake of the 
colonel and his civilian companion. He saw the 
local chief of police salute the Oberst, go with 
him through the exit, followed by a posse of his 
men. In the firm grasp of his captors, he also 
was hurried off the platform, through the lofty 
hall beyond. 

As they emerged from the station into the 
Bahnhof-Platz the roar of an angry mob smote 
them like a squall. Beyond a clear space close 
at hand, where stood a couple of motor-cars, 
was a dense mass of people, who howled and 
shouted as they waved a forest of fists above 
their heads. Police, on foot and mounted, kept 
them back from the station-exit by desperate 
efforts that had constantly to be renewed. 

M Brot I Brot ! " came one insistent cry from 
the mob, dominating the chaos of vituperations, 
of senseless cat-calls, of vile words that were 
the simplest expression of bitter hatred. They 
surged forward again and again in tumultuous 
rushes, stemmed at last by the vigorously 
struggling police, only to break loose elsewhere. 

The Oberst put his monocle into his eye, 
stared upon the mob with cool contempt. A 
shower of stones hurtled past him, shattered 
the station windows at his back. He turned to 
the chief of police. 

41 The town is under martial law ! " he said. 
" Charge those dogs for me ! Mounted men ! " 

The chief of police blew a shrill blast upon 
his whistle. A troop of mounted policemen 
trotted up, formed their ranks in the open space. 
Other mounted men joined them from the fringe 
of the crowd. The chief of police gave his orders. 
There was a flash of swords drawn from the 

scabbard, a curt command above the uproar. 
The troop put spurs to their horses. For a 
second the only sound was the clattering of 
hoofs upon the pavement, and then, in one 
simultaneous outcry, an awful tumult of angry 
oaths, of panic-stricken shrieks, of screams of 
pain echoed from the houses of the square. 
Muller gazed, fascinated with horror, at the 
terrorized crowd of men and women who fled 
blindly to escape the plunging horses, the swords 
that rose and fell. A lane was left open behind 
the charging troop — a lane strewn with prone 
bodies of men and women who endeavoured to 
raise themselves upon an arm and sank ere they 
could crawl away. 

The colonel smiled grimly. 

" So ! " he said. " That is the way to pacify 
them, Herr Bruckmann." 

The civilian functionary had turned white. 
He endeavoured to smile back, achieved only- 
a grimace. The colonel did not wait for his 
reply. He went towards his motor-car, stopped 
with his foot upon the running-board. 

" Bring that man along to the Rathaus 1 " he 
said to the policemen, pointing to Muller. Then 
to the civilian he added : " We will establish a 
court-martial there immediately ! " 

He disappeared into the car, followed by his 
companion. A moment later it was speeding 
along the track of the charging police, passed 
out of sight into the street beyond. 

Several other policemen reinforced the group 
which held the ex-soldier, and in a compact 
body they set off across the square. The tide 
of the mob had now flowed back into it. The 
terror of the flashing swords, no longer im- 
mediately before their eyes, they returned, 
infuriated by the violence which a moment ago 
had struck panic to their souls, a savage lust 
for vengeance blinding them to all else. Howling 
for blood, hurling stones, striking with sticks, 
griping with clawlike hands, they surged around 
the little escort which fought its way forward 
step by step. " 

In the narrow street at the end of the square 
the police could make no further progress. 
Two of them held firmly on to Muller, half-dazed 
by his treatment, but, like a caged wild animal, 
ready to spring for liberty at the first oppor- 
tunity. The group reeled against one another 
in the rushes of the mob, struck out right and 
left with their sheathed swords, dealing blows 
that felled at each stroke. Still they could not 

" A prisoner 1 Rescue I Rescue I " howled 
the mob. 

There was an answering shout from the 
upper windows of an adjacent house. Muller 
looked up to it. Men were flinging out furniture 
into the street below. He could just see the 
facia of the building above the heads of the 
crowd. It was a baker's shop that had been 
plundered. The dwelling house was now being 
put to the sack. One of the pillagers had found 
a riile. lie appeared now at the window, his 
face grinning triumph as he shouted a warning. 
The crowd fell back from the close-beset escort 
in sudden alarm. The sergeant in charge 




whipped out an automatic pistol, shouted an 
order to his men to draw theirs, just as the 
shot cracked from the window. He fell in a 
heap. For a fraction of a second Muiler felt 
his captors' grasp relax as they felt for their 
weapons. With a violent effort he sent both 
sprawling, snatched at the pistol of the dead 
man, sprang into the crowd. 

A fusillade of shots came from the group of 
policemen, evoking another outburst of shrieks 
and cries from the mob surging back away from 
them. The police were now isolated in a stretch 
of empty street. They charged forward with 
drawn swords, pistols ready. With the unthink- 
ing instinct of the battle-trained soldie , Muiler 
flung himself into the shelter of a chance door- 
way, fired rapidly, with practised aim, at the 
charging group. From the window above 
the rifle cracked repeatedly. From the mob 
came the quick reports of other firearms. For 
one minute more there was an empty space 
about the savagely-retaliating policemen, and 
then the tumult closed, raging, over the bodies 
of the stricken men. 

From that point Muiler lived the unreal lif j 
of a fantastic nightmare where one wild incident 
blurred into the next. He found himself 
borne shoulder-high along the street by the 
mob, acclaimed as leader by the latest of their 
impetuous whims. A hundred wild figure* 
clamoured around him for the orders he gave 
swiftly, as by instinct. He forgot his home, 
his children. He was exhilarated with the sense 
of authority, uttered his commands with the 
sureness of a born leader who had suddenly 
found his opportunity. The passion of the 
crowd, in fierce revolt against all that had 
hitherto coerced their lives, was a white-hot 
flame in his, so recently outraged soul. A 
quenchless hatred for that upper race which 
had squandered millions of lives as a vain fee 
for their ambitions, and succeeded only in 
rendering the German an outcast, dominated 
him like a mania. All that misery and suffering 
they had inflicted should now recoil upon those 
who gave the order — the great caste of 
Government officials and army officers. An 
end of it — an end of it ; the words beat in his 
brain like an echo of the phrase he had shouted 
he knew no longer when. Their power must 
end here and now. The people — he and his 
like — had submitted long enough. The in- 
stincts of an ancestor who 'had fought behind 
the barricades of 1848 asserted themselves 
in him as his own as he led his howling, shrieking 
mob along the shuttered street towards the 

In the open space before the building a 
company of infantry was forming to its front. 
A section of machine-gunners were rapidly 
assembling their weapons. Muiler took in 
the situation at a glance. Another minute 
and the crowd would be exterminated. The 
revolt crushed at the outset. 

He ran towards the infantry, crying : — 
" Kameraden ! Kameraden I Don't shoot ! 
Don't shoot I I am a soldier like yourselves ! 
A comrade 1 " 

by Google 

There was hesitation, doubt, among the men 
forming into line. 

" Present ! " shouted the officer, with a 
curse. The rifles rose irregularly to the hori- 
xontal. The machine-gunners were not quite 
ready. The officer opened his mouth for the 
final order. Muiler shot him dead. 

A moment later the infantry and the machine- 
gunners were overborne by the crowd which 
vociferously fraternized with them, cheered 
them, kissed them, shook hands with them, 
bewildered them in a clamour of male and 
female voices. 

There was a crashing detonation from the 
other side of the square. Another company 
had formed fine, had fired a volley indiscri- 
minately into soldiers and civilians. A howl 
of rage overpowered v the death-shriek of the 
victims. The soldiers who had fraternized 
flung themselves prone and opened a rapid 
fire upon their erstwhile comrades in arms ; 
civilians and ex-soldiers formed the firing-line 
with them, snatching up the weapons of the 
dead. Machine-guns opened from both sides. 
The battle commenced. 

Gradually the rioters and their scanty auxil- 
iaries were forced back out of the open space. 
Muiler found himself appealed to for orders by 
leaders of other sections of the mob as well as 
by his own immediate following. He gave them 
with quick decision. Machine-guns to the roofs 
of the houses. Snipers to the windows. The 
fusillade swelled in intensity with each moment 
as more and more of the mob procured weapons. 
Still the Government forces held the open 
space in front of the Rathaus. Over the 
barricade which now closed the entrance to the 
street, Muiler glanced cautiously at the line of 
prone soldiers who fired rapidly, ten bullets 
against one, at their concealed foes. He noted 
pieces of paper whirling across the ground in a 
high wind from right to left of the line and had 
a sudden inspiration. 

" Fire the houses on the side of the square 1 " 
he crie*d. 

A noisy crowd of men and women dashed off 
by back streets to execute the order. A few 
minutes later dense volumes of smoke were 
rolling across the square, blinding the aim of the 
defending soldiers. He - saw them rise and 
retreat, misty figures in the smother of fumes, 
rose to shout his own men forward. Something 
struck him violently in the chest. 

He awoke from vague dreams of suffering to 
find himself stretched across a dead body. 
Bewildered, he gazed around him. It was 
twilight. Ruddy reflections flickered on the 
gaunt skeletons of gutted houses, from the 
foundations of which smoke still welled in 
volumes. In his immediate neighbourhood all 
was deathly quiet, but from somewhere in the 
distance came rapid rifle-shots. He recognized 
his environment. 

" These cursed Belgians ! " he said, to himself. 
" That's another town fired to teach them a 
lesson ! I hope they shot the mayor." 

The illusion was complete. Waking from the 
coma of his death- wound, he was back again in 

Original from 




the wild days of 1914 ; the familiar gutted town, 
the row of huddled bodies of women and civilians 
at the foot at the shot- whitened wall near the 
broken barricade, were unmistakable. He 
realized suddenly that he was wo undid, en- 
deavoured to rise in an effort to find his company 
or an ambulance. His failure brought the 

by Google 

truth home to him in a thrill of horror* He 
clapped his hand to his chest. 

" Me in Gott ! " he murmured, dcspfiiringh'* 
as he sank back, " and the Hauptmann said that 
peace was certain in a few days I " 

Ajj his eyes closed he wondered whether the 
twiJight was of evening or of dawn. 

Original from 

On Record 

fy Wilson Macnair. 

& Illustrat e J£uA.Gi(f>er/. R.O.I. 

APTAIN ROLAND of the* Royal 
Army Medical Corps placed the 
big wax cylinder he held in his 
hands very carefully on the 
revolving drum of the phono- 
graph in his examining-room 
and then set the apparatus in 
motion. The apparatus was a 
good one, the best that money could buy, for 
Captain Roland was a rich man. and it ran noise* 
lessly with the measured swiftness pf well-cut 
gear wheels. As scfon as the apparatus had begun 
to revolve, Captain Roland turned to the patient 
who was seated in his room and ordered him to 
say " A B C " as loud as he could. The man 
made a very curious grimace ; and then a 
whisper that was soft and toneless came from 
his lips. 

" Just lie on the couch," said Captain Roland, 
" and make yourself comfortable." 

The man did as he was told and Captain Roland 
covered him with a blanket. The man seemed 
utterly listless and his face was as vacant as the 
face of an imbecile child ; it had none of the 
cunning of those who lose their reason in adult 
life. He closed his eyes at once, and then 
Captain Roland took up a position at the top of 
the correh and made some suggestion to the 
patient in a quiet steady voice. Captain Roland 
suggested that the patient was very tired, that 
he was going to sleep, that his eyes were moist 
and his limbs warm. Gradually a pink flush 
deepened in the patient's cheeks and he slept 
peacefully ; in his sleep he seemed to have lost 
the vacant look that he had while waking. 
Captain Roland watched him for a few moments 
and then he asked, in commanding tones : — 
" You hear me ? " 

The patient replied that he heard quite 
distinctly. Captain Roland then said that the 
patient was now able to speak and that all his 
loss of voice was only imaginary. He said it 
as a judge speaks of the excuses advanced by a 
convicted criminal. And the patient agreed that 
it was just as he said. The patient spoke in a 
good loud voice. Captain Roland then ordered 
the patient to repeat the alphabet and the multi- 
plication table and " God save the King," and 
the patient repeated them all quite well. 

" Now you may wake up/' said Captain 
Roland. And he stopped the apparatus. 

When the patient woke up he was dumb again. 
Captain Roland told him to sit down on the chair, 
and then he explained that only a minute before 
he had spoken easily in loud tones. The man's 
face showed sheer incredulity at this and he even 
smiled, because the idea amused him. He had 
been dumb for six months Captain Roland 
pointed to the phonograph and said that he would 
prove to the patient that everything he had told 
him was true. He took the wax drum off the 
receiving machine and put it on to another 
machine, and he set the second machine going so 
that all that had been said in the room was 
repeated down to the very sounds of Captain 
Roland's boots on the wood floor. 

The patient listened to the machine at first 
with a look of amusement on his face, but that 
soon faded away when he got interested in the 
business. When the phonograph repeated the 
suggestions Captain Roland had made about 
feeling tired and drowsy, the patient got a queer 
rapt look in his eyes as though 'the suggestions 
were affecting him again. Captain Roland did 
not want that, so he recalled the man by telling 
him to listen very carefully to what followed ; at 
the sound of his voice the man started just as a 
man starts from sleep 

Then the phonograph repeated Captain 
Roland's question as to whether the patient 
had heard him, and answered the question in 
good ringing tones that made the patient gasp 
audibly. The patient gasped 'again when his voice 
was heard speaking to Captain Roland about the 
nature of his complaint, and this time he grasped 
his knees with his hands and rubbed them 
backwards and forwards in quick movements as 
though he were ill at ease. Captain Roland 
watched him closely. The patient's voice 
began to say the alphabet in ringing tones. 
Suddenly the patient jumped up from his chair ; 
his hands clutched at his throat. He began to 
utter loud sounds that were inarticulate. Then 
his voice seemed to break. 

" Oh, Great Scot," he cried. 

Captain Roland said : " You can speak 
now ? ** . 

" Yes, sir," said the patient. 








Naturally enough, the news of Captain Roland's 
method of dealing with dumb shell shock 
spread and people came to find out about it and 
ask for instruction. That was all very well. But 
some of the people who came wanted more than 
instruction, as this story will show. One of those 
who came wanting more than instruction was Sir 
Ebenezer Vase. 

Sir Ebenezer Vase was a doctor who had pro- 
cured a very great reputation. In what manner 
he had procured it was not clearly known, though 
there were several explanations. Sir Ebenezer 's 
friends said that his success was due to his bril- 
liant pioneer work upon nervous diseases ; his 
enemies said that it was due to a different cause 
altogether. The general opinion of men who were 
neither friends nor enemies was that scientifically 
Si** Ebenezer did not count. But then who had 

ever known a " bedside baronet " who did count- 
scientifically ? 

Sir Ebenezer was one of those men who have a 
conspicuously long nose. The length of his nose 
gave him a cunning appearance which was in- 
creased by the smallness of his forehead. He 
had small eyes, too, of the twinkling kind, and 
large, restless hands. A peculiar habit 
snorting at frequent intervals added, in 
opinion of many, to the impression of saga 
conveyed by him. It was a fact that no pat 
who visited his consulting-room in Harley S' 
had ever been known to forget to leave his tl 
guinea fee. 

When Sir Ebenezer came to see Cap 
Roland's invention, Captain Roland, who k 
his visitor by name and reputation only, bega 
cherish all kinds of glad hopes. Captain Re* 




was nobody in particular and it was, therefore, 
a high honour that a great leader of the profession 
should take an Interest in his -work. Captain 
. Roland received Sir Ebenezer with gratitude and 
explained to him everything about the invention. 
He even demonstrated a case. Jle had made 
ready to demonstrate a second case, and had his 
beautiful noiseless apparatus running for the 
purpose when Sir Ebenezer, who had listened in 
majestic silence, held up his hand. Sir Ebenezer 
had seen and heard enough. So Captain Roland 
sent the patient, who had just come into the 
room, away again and prepared to listen to what 
Sir Ebenezer had to say. 

Sir Ebenezer's speech, delivered in his big, 
booming voice, was after this fashion: "You,, 
my dear Roland, Are a young man with 
your way to make in the world ; I think that 
without undue boastfulness I may say that my 
way has been made. You have achieved, 
single-handed, an important discovery on behalf 
of the dumb soldier, but it will be difficult for 
you to, present your discovery to the world with- 
out help. I mean that the fact of your youth 
and inexperience may prejudice your chances 
of obtaining a good hearing. It would be a 
thousand pities if your remarkable work did not 
secure the meed of attention due to it. I pro- 
pose, therefore, if it is agreeable to you, that I 
shall associate myself with you in order to secure 
your rights. I will act as your scientific sponsor, 
nothing more, . The work is yours ; the credit 
of the work belongs to you alone." 

At the conclusion of this speech Sir Ebenezer 
blew his nose. His face wore a look 1 of great 
benevolence,' a look characterized by some of 
his" acquaintances as a "three-guinea sniper." 
No fox settling down to the discussion of a 
fat duck could have looked more benevolent. 
Captain Roland experienced what he after- 
wards, in humility, described as the " feeling of 
a made man." Captain Roland said that he was 
deeply indebted to Sir Ebenezer and that he 
accepted the offer in the spirit in which it was 
made. He added that he was not a good writer 
and had been looking forward with anxiety to 
the preparation of a paper on his work. Sir 
Ebenezer at once eased his mind by offering to 
write the paper for him, and thereupon Captain 
Roland entrusted all his notes and case records 
to the care of his new friend. 

Captain Roland did not hear from Sir Ebenezer 
immediately, but this circumstance aroused no 
apprehensions in his mind, because Sir Ebenezer 
had returned to London from France. At the 
end of a month, however, the prolonged silence- 
began to disturb him a little, and he made up his 
mind to write a very polite letter to the great 
man suggesting that the time for action was - 

He had just come to this decision when his 
orderly entered the room with his mail. There 
were a couple of letters from home a^nd there 
was his copy of the Neurologist. He read his 
letters and then sat down to study the journal. He 
opened it listlessly enough, but as soon as he read 
the Contents Table his listlessness disappeared. 
He shouted in his surprise and anger. One of 

by Google 

the items in the Contents Table of the Neurolo- 
gist was " Phonographic Treatment of Mutism 
due to Shell Shock, by Sir Ebenezer Vase." The 
name of Captain Roland did not appear at all 
in this article. At the end of the article was an 
announcement that Sir Ebenezer "would lecture 
on the subject before the Royal Association of 
Medicine. . j •' • - * 

Captain Roland had all the faults of his 
enthusiastic nature ; he was' easily downcast 
and depressible. The. theft of his discovery* 
by Sir Ebenezer depressed him so much that for 
a whole day he went about his work ' without 
being able to think clearly or decide what to do. 
On the second day he sat down in his room and 
thought the matter out. He realized during this 
process that he hadn't" a scrap of evidence to 
show it was his work and not Sir 'Ebenezer's 
work, except the reeords themselves — and after 
all anybody might have records. At the very 
best he could only claim to have discovered the 
same thing as Sir Ebenezer had discovered 
and at the same time. And Sir Ebenezer's 
reputation would silence even that claim* 

He rose up from these reflections and looked 
dismally at his beautiful machine. He took up 
one of the records in his hands and examined it 
with listless eyes. What hours of labour he had 
bestowed upon this work I Almost automatically 
he slipped the record on the machine and set it 
going. His own voice came to him, clear and 
strong. . . . And then another voice came 
to him, saying : " You, my dear Roland, are a 
young man with your way to make in the world ; I 
think that without undue boastfuiness . . . ." 

Captain Roland shouted again as he had 

shouted when he read of Sir Ebenezer's treachery. 

■ And he also thanked God that he had forgotten 

to stop the recording disc while Sir Ebenezer was 

speaking to him. 

After that Captain Roland's face had a queer, 
quiet look that surprised even himself. He did 
not seem to be able to change that look ; he dis- 
covered that there were things in his character 
he had not guessed at. He packed the record 
away very carefully in much cotton-wool, and then 
he went to his O.C. and asked for four days' leave 
of absence to attend the meeting- of the Royal 
Association of Medicine in London at which Sir 
Ebenezer was going to lecture on Mutism. His 
O.C. said that there would be no difficulty at all f 
about leave of absence. 

Captain Roland reached London the night 
before the lecture and he had a good long sleep 
after his journey. He arrived at the Royal 
Association of Medicine a little before the time of 
the meeting and he brought a lajge wooden box 
in the taxi with him. The Secretary of the 
Association, who was a friend of Captain Roland's, 
expressed surprise at the appearance of the box, 
and Captain Roland said that his surprise would 
be greater still when he discovered what the box 
contained. He opened the box and showed the 
Secretary his beautiful bright phonograph. The 
Secretary said : " But, my dear man, that is 
Sir Ebenezer's wheeze. He's scooped you on 

" Has he ? " said Captain Roland, with such a 

Original from 



lavage snap of the jaw that the Secretary looked 
at him in, some apprehension. 

Sir Ebenezer had a huge phonograph to illus- 
trate his lecture and a whole row of wax cylinders 
which he had got together far the occasion. He 
had picked up Captain Roland's method won- 
derfully successfully, , He delivered his lecture 
in his big, booming voice that was so effective 
as a means of silencing opposition ; and his 
audience , which was very large and very distin- 
guished and very bald-headed, was quite carried 
away. • 

When Sir Ebenezer sat down, some dis- 
creet applause was heard like the sounds of 
approval which occur now and then on great 
occasions in Nonconformist churches. ■ The Chair- 
man, who was also a distinguished bedside 
baronet, cleared his throat emphatically to 
announce that he was going to speak, He had 

just begun, " In my clinical experience " 

when Captain Roland, armed with his box, pushed 




up the steps on to the platform and dumped his 
box down on the demonstration table. Captain 
Roland said : H ' I must ask yon to defer your 
speech, Mr. Chairman/' 

The audience was much too startled to protest, 
and also, perhaps/ too dignified. The Chairman, 
too, seemed frightened out of his wits ; he sat 
down at once. Captain Roland fixed his gaze 
upon Sir Ebenezer, who was sitting beside the 
Chairman on the platform, and asked in a loud 
voice if Sir Ebenezer pretended that the method 
of treatment he had spoken of as liis own was 
really his own, 

" Certainly/' said Sir Ebenezer, with great 
serenity, " I think that was understood to be 
my meaning/' 

Captain Roland bowed. He asked the audience 
to note what Sir Ebenezer had said. Then he 
declared that he, not Sir Ebenezer, was the dis- 
coverer of the treatment. He made the assertion 
calmly. Sir Ebenezer lay back in his chair and 
yawned a little behind his hand, The audience 
yawned, too, though some members of it seemed 
sorry for Captain Roland, 

" I have my records here with me, '* said Captain 
Roland, and Sir Ebenezer yawned a little more. 
The Chairman, who had recovered his wits/ 
cleared his throat. He was goiiy* to put an end 

to the trouble* But 
just then Captain 
K oland ' s ph onog ra pi i 
began ,.10 work and 
C apt ad n Rol and s 
own voice was heard 
saying : "1 am very 
pleased to meet you, 
Sir Ebenezer/' Sir 
Ebenezer did not 
yawn any more. 

Captain Roland 
stood back from the 
phonograph so that 
he could watch Sir 
Ebenezer more 
closely. Nor did he 
turn to look at the 
audience when Sir 
Ebenezer's great 
booming voice was 
saying :— 

11 Youh a ve ackie vcd m 
single-handed, an im- 
portant discovery on 
behalf of the dumb 
soldier, but it will 
be difficult for you 
to present your dis- 
covery to the world 
without help* 
1 propose, therefore, 
if it is agreeable to 
you t that I skaU 
associate myself tviih 
you in order to 
secure . . " 

At this point, how- 
ever, the colour of 
Sir Ebenezer's Jace 







caused Captain Roland to stop the phonograph 
suddenly. Sir Ebenezer had risen to his feet. 
He said 

M I deny that that i* my voice/ 1 

Sir Ebenezer moved along the platform like 

a blind man and went out by the platform door. 
After the door shut the hall was quite silent. 
At iast the Chairman cleared his throat feebly. 
He said that this, meeting of the Royal Associa- 
tion of Medicine now stood adjourned* 




Owing to the scarcity of string a lady found herself 
in this dilemma* In making up a parcel for her son, 
a prisoner in Germany, she was limited to using ihiu 

of string, exclusive of 
knots, which passed 
round the parcel once 
lengthways and twice 
round its girth, as 
shown in the illus- 
tration. What was the largest rectangular parcel lhat 
she could make up, subject to these conditions ? 


A CORRESPONDENT sends me a quatrain, to which 
I add a couplet to bring in an additional word, as 
follows :— 
Through ..,+ .. of the sea the tide is making ; 

Peaceful and is the summer night ; 

But to a voice the stillness breaking ; 

"**.-.. brave boys* Your country bids you 


Better the gold of just and valiant strife 
Than the mere ♦ « « „ . * of a selfish life* 

The five missing words contain the same six letters 
differently arranged. 


A B C 

tn nt too 

333 333 *o°° 

555 5°° °°5 

777 <>17 007 

999 090 999 




Write down the little addition sum, A, which adds 
up 2775, New substitute six nougVils for six of the 
figures so that the sum shall be ttii. It will he seen 
that in the case B five noughts have been substituted 
and in case C nine noughts. But the puztfle is to do 
it with six noughts, 

The modem three - 
move chess problem has 
been brought to a high 
stale of perfection, 
having regard to such 
qualities as variety, 
economy of force, and 
difficulty, but it is re- 
freshing to go back 
sometimes to simple 
specimens of the old 
school. The example I 
pive, from an unknown 
author, certainly has * H,T t 

little variety (that is, ' While mate* in three moves. 
few variations) afid is 

not difficult, but there is an economy of force and a 
ple^smg strategy* How is White to mate Black in 
three moves? 

A PRINTER had an order for ten thousand bill forms 
per month, but each month the name of the particular 

by Google 

month had to be altered ; that is, he printed ten 
thousand "JANUARY," ten thousand tl FEB* 
KUAKY," ten thousand "MARCH/' etc, but as the 
particular types with which these words were to be 
printed had to be specially obtained and were expensive, 
he only purchased just enough movable types to enable 
him, by interchanging them, to print the whole of the 
months of the year. How many separate types did 
he purchase ? Of course, the words were printed 
throughout in capital letters, as shown. 

Solutions to Last Montk s Puzzle* . 

The total number of persons must clearly be a 
multiple of 3, say 45, 48, 51, or 54. If it is smaller 
than 45, some of the rooms must be unoccupied, and 
if larger than 54, some rooms must ecu tain more than 
three persons* Therefore, as there was a difference 










3 1 









2I 1 


l m 


z\ l\ 


I**. Floor 

2* J Floor 

>i*i Fiwt 

21 3 Jl 

ft |§1 2 

2 2 ~3 


















J*. Fl*nr 

Stud FtCfrr. 


of nine between the two numbers, we must take the 
extremes, 45 and ^4, They can be arranged in many 
different ways. 1 give one solution. In both arrange- 
ments there is the- same number of persons on every 
floor, and, if w,e superimpose the three lloors, there 
are nineteen persons on every side of the house. 

Tms is my way of converting ARMY into NAYY 
under the conditions : — t 

All the eleven words will be found in NuttalPs 
Dictionary. " Olla " is a mixture and " Laua " is 
a wood exported from Dcmerara* I cannot say that 
a shorter chain may not be found. 

Here is one way of expressing 89* Lb +l^-f ^ 

I think the smallest whole number that cannot be 
solved under the conditions as to signs laid down is 1 1 3, 

Tke Word is ARE, a monosyllable that has three 
syllables when wc add one letter and make it AREA. 
l*his word was printed just above in the example of 
" Word Chains/* and it was while writing it that I 
remembered this little peculiarity that I had come 
across when recently turning over the pages of the 
*" Ladies' Diary " for 1818 — iust a century ago. 
IDE— IDEA and SMILE— SIMILE are two other 

Original from 



( ^%ur(^rresbonclenc€ 

will be written more easily and more quickly 
with a " Swan " Pen. The " Swan" is clean 
and simple to use and lasts a lifetime. It is 
as necessary in the home as a pair of 
scissors. Why not get one to-day ? 

£>Wail Fountain En 

At pre-war prices, from 10 6- 

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Associate House, New York and Chicago. 

BECAUSE the/ recogniM that N^fht 
Ligbtfl make for r»stf ul slumber*. 

BECAUSE they reaJi»tt th« wisdom of 

taimhiiiK t-lie fc*ra uf the child who sleeps 

in the ilAfk. 

BECAUSE Price* WiK*«t U«ht» en aura 
a soft* restful glow In night's dixkuat huun. 

BECAUSE otwor wit* p«r*nt» h»« 
u«€n) Price h Mght LitfhtJi &* long ad thej can 

"PalmltlneStar." "Royal Cutis/' "Chlldi'." 
"Sentinel/ 1 "Giarke'e Pyramid*. 1 * 

Price's Patent Candle Company Ltd. 

BATTE1SEA. S.W. 11. 


Before the War this Country was 

flooded with cheap German laces— cheap 

because they were of poor quality. After the 
War— what? Will you be content to let 
them dump their inferior goods here ? Surely 
noL Then get into the habit of asking for 



Your oivti boat draUt 
can supply you tf yau 
ffflftst upon Patan*s+ 


which are alt British, arid of the highest possible 

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Contents for October, 1918. 

Tk. riffatt of emulation and reproduction ia the oanttntf of tab number an strictly rawed. 






ACROSTICS .-. .. .-* * 





THE PROBLEM CLUB XL— The Q-Lom Problem ... 





Jack Boyle .- 

... 231 

keble Howard ... 

... 238 


... 244 

may edginton .- 

... 249 


... 259 

•en ... .„. ... 

... 263 

T. P. O'CONNOR ... 

... 264 


... 271 


... 276 


... 280 

Barry Pain 

... 289 


... 292 

E. Temple Thurston 

... 293 


... 304 

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On n in si fmrvi 




It PAL. 



Illustrated ty 
W. H. D. Koerncr. 



HE room wis faintly illumined 
by the intermittent flame oi a 
wood -lire slowly dying on the 
hearth of an open grate. The 
house was silent, dark, seem- 
ingly deserted. Outside the 
dripping fog clung to everything 
in heavy, impenetrable folds that 
isolated the residence from its neighbours as 
though it stood alone in an otherwise empty 

Inside the handsomely -furnished dining -room, 
and opposite the fire which now and then leaped 
up and cast his shadow in grotesque shapes 
gainst the ceiling, stood a man intently study- 
ing the panelled walls — a man with a white 
handkerchief masking his face and a coat that 
"■AEged under the weight of the revolver slung 
ready for instant use beneath one of its lapels. 

The man was Blackie, a Raffles among crooks, 
who lived by pitting skill and daring against the 
best safeguards a property -loving world has 
devised for Its own protection, and risking liberty 
and life on the issue of the game. Concealed 
behind the oaken panels he inspected so pains- 
takingly was a safe in which lay the Wilmerding 
jewels — a famous collection. Blackie was there 
to make them his own. 

He ran acutely sensitive fingers — sandpapered 
until the blood showed redly below the skin - 
over the woodwork, seeking the hidden spring 
he knew was there — for an incautious servant's 

Vol. Ivi + — 1©. 

remark had travelled up through the under- 
world until it reached Blackie, the one in a 
thousand expert enough to use it* Quickly his 
questing fingers located the key panel, and the 
door rolled noiselessly back, disclosing a steel 

" Ah K neatly arranged ! " murmured the safe- 
breaker in an inaudible and satisfied whisper as 
he stooped and gently turned the combination- 
knob. It revolved without perceptible sound, 
but science is an impartial ally— the ally of able 
crooks as well as of those who war upon them, 
Blackie laid a tiny metal disc against the com- 
bination. Wires led from it to a transmitter he 
hooked over his ear. Then he turned the dial- 
knob again slowly and with infinite care. The 
audi on bulb within the transmitter — science's 
newest device for magnifying otherwise imper- 
ceptible sound — carried to his ear plainly the 
faint click oi the tumblers within as the dial 
crossed the numbers of the combination that 
guarded the jewels. One by one he memorized 
them t slowly but surely reading the combination 
that, once his, would enable him to open the 
safe, take the gems, relock the strong-box, and 
depart without leaving behind the slightest out- 
ward evidence that robbery had been done. The 
burglar smiled contentedly as he worked. 
Already he reckoned the Wilmerding collection 
of jewels as his own. 

A faint sound from behind caught his ear. 
He straightened quickiy, dropped the audion 





bulb into his pocket, and slid the panel noiselessly 
back into place. 

" A step on the stair A " he whispered, in 
sudden alarm. " And I was sure the house was 
empty except for the two servants asleep below- 
stairs — I counted them out one by one ; and 
yet there's someone coming down from above. 
Coming down slowly, stealthily, too ! " — as he 
heard a second cautious step. " Too bad ! In 
another five minutes I should have been gone." 

He drew his mask higher over his face and 
stepped backward into the shadow of the drapery 
before the window he had prepared for a quick 
exit in an emergency. Then he waited, listening 
with every sense alert, every muscle rigid. 

Again he heard the step, now close to the 
doorway. Then in the dim firelight a small 
tousled head appeared — the head of a little child 
who stood irresolute outside the room, gazing 
fearfully at the dark shadows within. 

The boy — a mere baby of four — hesitated on 
the threshold of the dark room, evidently trying 
to summon courage to enter. The safe-breaker 
from his refuge saw and read a conflict between 
fear and determination in the wide eyes of the 
little intruder. For a full minute the child hung 
back ; then suddenly with a low cry, half fearful, 
half courageous, he ran across the room to the 
window and tumbled straight into the arms of 
the safe-breaker, of whose presence he had no 

Blackie, fearing an outcry, spoke quickly, 
soothingly, but the boy neither screamed nor 
cried. He stared wondering! y for a moment 
into the kind eyes that looked down into his, 
and then, with a faint sigh of relief, involuntarily 
nestled closer in the protecting arms that held 
him — a lonely, frightened child finding comfort 
and consolation in the unexpected solace of 
human companionship. 

" Who are you ? " lisped the little fellow, 
smiling confidingly up into Blackie's perplexed 
face. Then, with suddenly increased interest : 
" You aren't Santy, are you ? No, you aren't 
Santy, 'cause that on your face is a hanky, not a 
beard." He had reached up and given the 
partially disarranged handkerchief mask a gentle, 
inquiring tug. 

Blackie smiled back at him. 

" No, I'm not Santa Claus to-night, little 
man," he said. " Who are you ? " 

" I'm Martin Wilmerding, Junior, and I'm 
four years old," the boy said, proudly. 

" You are ! Well, well I And where is your 
mamma and your papa ? " 

" Papa's gone away, mamma says, and 
mamma's gone to a party : and when mamma 
was gone, then nursey went out too, and said 
she'd spank me if I told. John and Emily are 
downstairs sleeping, and I woke up and it was 
dark, and I was afraid — a little " 

" So they've all traipsed off and left you 
alone for me to entertain, have they ! " said 
Blackie, his eyes narrowing grimly as under- 
standing of the situation came to him. " But 
what were y* >u coming downstairs for ? Looking 
for mamma ? " 

" Oh, no — mamma won't come for ever and 

Digitized by VjOOglC 

ever 90 long. I was all alone and afraid, and I 
came down for Rex." 

" Rex — who is he ? " asked Blackie, quickly. 

" He's my doggie, my woolly doggie. See. 
here he is." 

The boy squirmed out of Blackie's arms, and 
pattered on bare feet to the window-seat, where 
he resurrected Rex from beneath a cushion. 
Then he hurried back to Blackie, and climbed 
to his lap with the toy dog clasped in his arms. 

" Rex sleeps upstairs with me," the child 
informed his new-found friend. " But to-night 
nursey forgot him, and I waked up and remem- 
bered where he was, and it was so dark and I 
wanted him so bad, so I came downstairs for 
him. I ain't afraid when I have Rex, 'cause I 
can hold him close and talk to him, and then 
we bofe go to sleep. See, isn't he a dear little 
doggie ? " 

Unconsciously Blackie's arms tightened around 
the soft little body nestling contentedly against 
his breast. 

" You poor, abandoned little kiddie ! " he said, 
softly. " You poor little orphan ! You're a 
little man. too. for it took real nerve to come 
down here after your pal Rex — far more nerve 
than I had to use to get in here." 

" I like you. You're nice man." said the boy 
with childishly intuitive understanding that the 
man in whose arms he lay was a friend. 

Blackie looked at his burden in puzzled in- 
decision. He hadn't the heart to desert his 
new-found pal, and yet he was a safe-breaker in 
a strange house, with each passing minute 
doubling his risk. Even the sound of their 
voices, low-pitched though they were, was an 
imminent danger. The boy, quiet and content, 
cuddled close to him, hugging his precious 
woolly dog. 

" Hadn't you better run back to bed. Martin ? " 
said Blackie, gently, at last. " Nursey will be 
back soon, and shell be cross if she finds you 
down here." 

The child clutched the arms that sheltered 

" Y-e-s," he admitted, slowly. Then wist- 
fully : " It's awful dark and quiet upstairs. If 
you come up and tuck me and Rex in bed. we 11 
be good and go right to sleep. Please." 

" Of course, I will," said the safe-cracker, a 
bit huskily. " I'd do it if the whole house were 
full of coppers." 

He rose with the boy still in his arms. 

" You must show me the way, Martin." he 
said. " And we mustn't make any noise and 
wake John and Emily. Now we'll go." 

Thev climbed the dark stairway together, and. 
the child directing, came to the open door of a 
big deserted nursery. A little empty bed revealed 
the refuge from which Martin Wilmerding. Jnr.. 
had begun his perilous adventure in search r>( 
Rex and companionship. Blackie laid the bov 
down and covered him as gently as a mother 
might have done. 

" Good night, little pal," he said. " I'm glad 
I happened to be here to-night." 

The boy clutched his hand. 

" Please stay ind hold my hand," he pleaded. 




" I'm going right to sleep if you will. Please, 
'cause it's awful dark." 

Blackie sat on the edge of the bed and took 
a tiny hand in his. The boy, with a sigh of perfect 
contentment, nestled snugly in his downy com- 

" Good night," he said, drowsily. 

" Good night, little pal," answered Blackie. 
Silence descended over the nursery as Blackie, 
with aching throat, waited hand-in-hand with 
the little Wilmerding heir, who was learning too 
soon that life's problems must be mastered alone 
and unaided. 

Five minutes passed, and Blackie, looking 
down, saw the boy was fast asleep with baby 
lips parted in a peaceful smile, and Rex's fuzzy 
head tightly clasped to his breast. The safe- 
breaker gently withdrew his hand and smoothed 
the covers. 

" Poor little chap 1 " he said. " Everything 
in the world that doesn't count, and only one 
real friend — Rex. Poor, lonely little chap ! " 

The safe-breaker crept noiselessly down the 
stairs to the room that contained the purpose 
of his visrt. The fife had died to a few glowing- 
embers. Again he rolled back the panelled door 
and exposed the safe. Again he adjusted the 
audion bulb and began anew the task of decipher- 
ing the combination. And again, with his work 
but half finished, there came a startling inter- 
ruption — a short and a long blast from a motor- 
horn that sounded from somewhere out in the 

foR ' 
" Mary's signal I Someone's coming," he 

reflected, disgustedly. Quickly he drew a damp 
cloth from his pocket and mopped the door of 
the safe and the woodwork to destroy the possi- 
bility of tell-tale finger-prints, then once more 
closed the panel. He drew back into the com- 
paratively safe shelter of the window-hangings, 
and waited. 

" I'm going to have those jewels to-night if I 
have to stay here till morning," he murmured, 
resolutely. " I wonder who this can be ? The 
nurse who slipped out on her own business and 
left that poor little kid alone, I suppose." 

The faint purr of a motor stopping before the 
house reached his ears. 

" That doesn't sound like a nurse to me," he 
thought. " If it's the mother of that boy, she'll 
be in here, likely enough, with all the lights on 
in a minute. Weil, anyway, we'll wait and see 
what happens. The window's ready for a quick 
get-away, and all the coppers in town couldn't 
get me once I'm outside in this fog, with Mary 
and the machine ready. We haven't lost yet." 

The whirl of the motor died, and voices sounded 
outside as steps ascended from the street. 

" Two are coming — a man and a woman," 
murmured Blackie. " Matters are growing 

The outer door opened and closed softly. In 
the darkness the safe-cracker " sensed " two 
dim forms in the doorway ; then an electric 
button clicked, and the room was flooded with 
light. Blackie saw a brilliantly handsome 
woman, cloaked and in evening dress, and an 
equally handsome man similarly garbed. The 



woman let her wrap slip to the floor as she 
turned to her companion. 

" What is it, Don ? " she asked, apprehensively. 
" What is troubling you so ? Tell me." 

" The same thing that always troubles me," 
he answered, stepping towards her and taking 
her hands in his. " My love for you, Marian ! " 

The man drew her closer to him gently, but 
irresistibly, and his arm dropped to her slender 

" Your own heart tells you all that is in mine 
— it must," he added quickly. " Marian, dear, 
this torture must end to-night." 

For a second, with his arm around her, she 
swayed toward him. Then slowly she released 
herself and drew away. 

" Don't, Don, please 1 " she begged, tremu- 
lously. " You know we agreed not to discuss 
things that — that can't be remedied. Is this all 
you had to tell me ? Is this why you have 
brought me home now from the dance where 
at least we might have forgotten and been happy 
for an hour ? " 

Her face, as she looked up at him, was a 
strangely mingled contradiction. There was 
reproach in her voice ; there were tenderness 
and regret in her eyes, but behind them lay an 
instinctive womanly shrinking from something 
to be feared. 

" Yes," her companion said, studying her 
face, " that is what I have come to tell you 
to-night ; first that I love you ; then that I am 
going away. Marian, I sail for Honolulu to- 
morrow morning on the Manchuria.** 

" Oh, no, no ! " the woman cried, springing 
to his side and catching his arm in a movement 
imploringly detaining. " Oh, Don, you wouldn't I 
You couldn't 1 Tell me it isn't so. You say 
y OU — you — care ; and yet you would leave me 
to face an empty life here — alone — in this house." 

To Blackie, watching from within the window- 
embrasure, the sweeping gesture of hate that 
accompanied her final word was as revealing as 
a diary. It seemed to picture the luxurious home 
as a prison in which love and a woman's illusions 
had slowly stifled and died. It seemed the signed 
confession of an unhappy and embittered wife. 
And also, in its resentful recklessness, the gesture 
explained the man she called " Don " — the man 
who now gently drew her into his arms and tilted 
her head till she faced him squarely. 

"It is true that I am leaving on the Man- 
churia,'* he said, " but it is not true that I am 
leaving you. Because " — as she stared up at 
him in breathless wonder — " Marian, dear, you 
are going with me." 

A slowly rising flush coloured her white cheeks, 
and for just a second her eyes answered the fire 
and tenderness in his. Then she laid trembling 
hands against his breast, and slowly pushed him 
away as she bowed her head. 

" It can't be, Don," she said, speaking so low 
the man stooped to hear her. " What you ask 
is impossible. I can never do that — never." 

" And why not ? " he answered. " Is it because 
of what our friends here will say ? That for 
them and their gossip 1 " — snapping his fingers. 
" For a week idli; tcngv<ss will buzz over teacups 






and glasses, Well, Jet them. You and I will 
not be there to hear, We shall be together far 
out on the Pacific under a warm sun and a b'ue 
sky, with heartache for eve, dead and buried 
beyond the . m of perfect 

happiness rising before us as you see the 
rise out of the sea. Hawaii is a beautifu 
dearest-^a land that has no yesterdays. Are 
to miss a' 1 thiit a*7*ftr us there, all that ma I 
life Tirorth fiviif; fc because wc fear chatter 



tongues two thousand miles behind us ? No I Dear 
one, we must both sail on the Manchuria" 

He stopped, seeking a glimpse of her averted 

" Why must you go ? " she asked, her head 
still bowed. 

" There is serious labour trouble on the sugar 
plantation. Michaels cabled me this afternoon. 
It is absolutely imperative for me to return at 
once, and the Manchuria to-morrow morning is 
the only steamer this month. I have taken 
passage, and I can't — I won't — leave you behind. 
Will you go, Marian ? " 

Slowly she shook her head. 

" This, then, is the end, Don," she said. " You 
know I can't go, and you know, too " — her 
voice now wa§ bitterly resentful — " that life 
will be a hideously empty thing to me after the 
Manchuria sails in the morning. But I can't 
go. I am tied here with bonds that can't be 
broken — by me." 

11 Do you mean that, Marian'? " 

She hesitated, and brushed a hand quickly 
across her eyes — then nodded silently. - 

" If you do," he continued, betraying the 
bitterness of his disappointment, " it proves 
one of two things. Either you are a coward, 
afraid to risk a momentary sacrifice to buy a 
lifetime of happiness, or deep in your hsart you 
still love your husband. Which is it ? Do you 
care for Wilmerding ? Has my love been no 
more than a toy to amuse you in idle hours ? " 

" How can you ask that, Don ? " she answered, 
quickly. " You know it hasn't ; and as for my 

husband " She stopped and stood staring 

down into the fire, her face altering with each 
of many swiftly changing emotions. 

At last she looked up and into the eyes of the 
man beside her. 

" I did love Martin Wilmerding once," she 
said. " Sometimes I have thought that if the 
past two years could be blotted out— forgotten 
— I might love him again even yet ; but now, 
to-day, to-night, I do not love him. That is my 
answer, Don Lavalle. . To-night I do not love 

" How long has it been since you thought you 
might care for him again ? " Lavalle demanded, 

" Since you came into my life and taught me 
to care for you." 

He stooped over her eagerly. 

" You tell me that, and expect me to leave 
you here I " he whispered. " Never ! In say- 
ing you love me, you have decided. Come 
Marian, come." 

For a second their eyes met. His were eager, 
ardent, passionately tender. To a woman grown 
reckless through neglect, they pleaded his cause 
better than words. She crouched by the vanish- 
ing fire, weighing her problem. Behind her, 
Lavalle, intuitively avoiding speech, awaited her 
verdict. From his hiding-place Blackie watched, 
forgetful for the moment of why he was there. 

Minutes passed — minutes in which Marian 
Wilmerding, choosing her future at diverging 
crossroads, relived her life. 

The years behind her flitted one by one through 

her mind — years she saw as a nightmare of 
steadily growing disillusionment. She had loved 
big, handsome, debonair Martin Wilmerding 
when they were married. As a suitor he had 
stood out alone among the many men who had 
asked her hand. They had been very happy at 
first, were still happy when their boy was born. 
When and how had the present gulf between 
them grown ? Memory told her. It had begun 
when she found the romance -haloed suitor she 
had married slowly altering into a husband 
who regarded her love as an irrevocably given 
possession requiring neither attention nor the 
refreshing nourishment of tender response. 
Time widened the breach. She had been morose, 
petulant ; he had not understood, and had 
withdrawn more and more into a cycle of interests 
in which she had no share. She, hiding her 
wound, retaliated by plunging into the ieverish 
gaiety of ultra-smart society. For many months 
they had lived as strangers, never meeting except 
occasionally at dinner. 

And now she was facing the inevitable result 
—listening to the plea of a man for whom she 
had confessed her love, urging her to leave home 
and husband. What was the answer ? 

Her throat tightened in an aching pain as her 
eye fell on the thin gold band that encircled a 
slender finger. Martin Wilmerding had stooped 
to kiss that hand and ring on the day it first was 
placed there. 

" Dear little wife," he had said, " that ring 
is the symbol of a bond that never will be broken 
by me. Throughout all the years before us. 
whenever I see it, this hour will return, bringing 
back all the love and devotion that is in my 
heart now." 

Recollection of the long-forgotten words swept 
her with a sudden revulsion of feeling, and she 
sprang to her feet. In that instant she realized 
for the first time why she had come to love Don 
Lavalle. It was because in his fresh, ardent, 
impulsive devotion he was so like the Martin 
Wilmerding who had kissed her hand and ring 
with a vow of lifetime fealty that had left her 
clinging to him in tearful ecstasy. 

" Don," she said, " if you really love me, go— 
now, now." 

Lavalle's arms, eagerly outstretched toward 
her, dropped to his side. It was not the answer 
he had awaited so confidently. A vague resent- 
ment against her tinged his disappointment with 
new bitterness. 

" That is final, is it, Marian ? " he asked. 
" Yes, yes. Don't make it harder for me. 
Please go," she cried, almost hysterically. 
He slipped into his overcoat. 
" Perhaps you will tell me why," he suggested, 
with increasing asperity. 

" Because of the boy and this," the woman 
said, brokenly, laying a finger on her wedding- 

" Nonsense," he cried, angrily. " What tie 
does that ring represent that Martin Wilmerding 
has not violated a hundred times ? You have 
been faithful to it, we know, even though you 
admit you care for me. But has he ? I have 
not the pleasure of your hr^band's acquaintance, 





but no man ever neglected a wife like you as 
outrageously as he has done without a reason/' 

" Go, please, quickly," she pleaded, shivering, 

** I will/* he said, instinctively avoiding the 
blunder of combating her decision with argument. 

He caught her in his arms and, stooping 
quickly, kissed her on the lips. She reeled away 
from him, sobbing, 

"Our first and last kiss. Good-bye, Marian,'* 
he said, gently, and left the room. 

She followed, clutching at the walls for sup- 
port as she watched him from the doorway. 
He adjusted his mu filer and caught up his hat 
without a backward glance, and she pressed her 
two hands to her lips to choke back a cry* Then, 
as he opened the outer door, the crushing misery 
of her loneliness swept over her, overpowering 
self-restraint and resolution t 

" Eton, oh, Don ! n she pleaded, stumbling 
towards him with outstretched arms. 

In a second he was at her side, and she was 
crying against his breast. 

" I can't let you go/' she sobbed, H I tried, but 
I can't. Take me, Don, I will do as you wish/' 

From his hiding-place Blackie saw them re- 
enter the room, The woman stopped by the 
fireplace, drew off her wedding-ring, and after 
holding it a second between shaking fingers* 
dropped it into the ashes. 

" Dead and gone ! " she said. 4r Dead as the 
love of the man who put it on my finger." 

11 My ring will replace it," said Lava lie, 
tenderly, but with triumph in his eyes. ** Wtl- 
merding w r ill want a divorce. He shall have it, 
and then you 11 wear the wedding-ring of the 
man w r ho loves you and whom you love — the 
only ring in the world that should never be 
broken. ' ' 

" Don, promise me that you will never leave 
me alone/' she pleaded, falteringly. w I don't 
want a chance to think, to reflect, to regret. I 
only want to be with you — and forget everything 
else in the world. Promise me." 

" Love like mine knows no such word as 
separation," he answered, * r From this hour 
we will never be apart- Don't fear regrets, 
Marian. There will be none." 

" My boy," she suggested, "he will go with 
US, Poor little Martin i I wouldn't have him 
behind fatherless and motherless/" 

" Of course, not," he agreed. " And now you 
must get a few necessaries together quickly — 
just the things you will require on the steamer. 
You can get all you need when we reach Honolulu, 
but there is no time for anything now, for in 
the circumstances it is best that we go aboard 
the steamer before morning. Can you be ready 
in an hour ? " 

** In an hour I " she cried, in surprise. " Yes, 
I can, but- — but — how can we go aboard the 
steamer to-night ? We can't, Don. Your pas age 
is booked, but not mine." 

" My passage is booked for Don Lavalle and 
wife," he informed her, smilingly, 

She turned away her head to hide the flush 
that coloured her face* 

ri You were so sure as that I " she murmured, 
with a strangely new T sense of disappointment. 

" Yes/' Lavalle answered, * J for I knew love 
like mine could not fail to win yours- VViLL you 
pack a single trunk while 1 run back to my 
hotel and get my own things together ? 1 can 
be back in an hour or less. Will you be ready ? M 

" Yes, I wilj be ready," 1 she promised, wearily. 
" I will only take a few things. I want nothing 
that my — husband ever gave me* I shall only 
take a few of my own things and the jewels in 
the safe that were in mother's collection. They 
are my own. and they're very valuable. Don. 
It will not be safe to risk packing them in my 
baggage. Ill get them now and give them to 
you to keep until we can leave them in the 
pursers safe to-morrow. Be very careful of 
them, Don. They couldn't be replaced for a 

Blackie saw her hurry to the wall — ^aw the 
sliding door roll back ; with a quickly indrawn 
breath he watched the woman fumble nervously 
with the combination -dial. The safe-door swung 
open, and she rapidly sorted out a half-dozen 
jewel-cases and reclosed the sale. 

" Here they are. Don/' &he said, handing 
the gems to Lavalle. " I have taken only those 
that came from my own people. And now you 
must leave me. I must pack> and I can't cail 
the servants in these circumstances- I must 
get the boy up and ready ; and also " — she 
hesitated a second, and then added — " I must 
write a note to Mr. Wilmerding telling what 
I have done and why," 

" Don't mail it until we are at the dock,"' 
warned the man. " Where Is he at his club or 
out of town ? iJ 

** He's at the Del Monte Hotel, near Monterey 
— or was," she answered. ' The letter won> 
reach him till to-morrow night/' 

" And to-morrow night we shall be far out of 
sight of land/* Lavalle cried. '* That is as it 
should be. I am glad I never met him. for now 
I need never do so." 

He stuffed the jewcl*cases into his overcoat, 

" I'll be back in my car in an hour/' he 
warned. M Hurry, Marian p my love* Each 
minute until I am with you again will be a day/* 

He caught up his hat and ran down the steps to 
the street, where his car stood at the kerbstone. 

As the door closed behind liim, Marian Wil- 
merding sank into a chair and clutched her 
throat to stifle choking sobs, Intuitive womanly 
fear of what she was to do paralyzed her. For 
many minutes she lay shaking convulsively as 
she tried to overcome the dread that chilled her 
heart* Then the dismal atmosphere of the 
masterless home began to oppress her witl 
sense of wretched loneliness. 

She rose, and with lord, reckless eyes shin 
hotly from behind wet lashes, she ran upst- 
to pack, as she had promised. 

As Donald Lavalle threw open the door of 
empty ear, a man who had slipped behind h 
round the corner of the Wilmerding rcsidi 
stepped to his side. 

i+ I'm sorrv to hay** to trouble you for 



The triumphant smile on Lavalle's face faded, 
and he shrank back in speechless consternation. 

" Your wife's jewels ! " he ejaculated, trying 
to recover from the shock of the utterly un- 
expected interruption. " You are " 

" Yes, I am Martin Wilmerding ; and the 
happy chance that brought me home to-night 
also gave me the pleasure of listening from the 
window-seat of the dining-room to your interesting 
tite-d-tete with my wife." 

A revolver flashed into Blackie's hand and was 
jabbed sharply into Lavalle's ribs. 

" Give me Marian's jewels." the pseudo- 
husband cried. " Hand them over before I blow 
your heart out. That's what I ought to do — and 
I may, anyway." 

Lavalle handed over the cases that contained 
the Wilmerding collection of gems. 

" Now," continued his captor, " I want a 
word with you." 

The revolver was thrust so savagely into 
Lavalle's face that it left a long red bruise. 

" I have heard all you said to-night. I know 
all your plans for stealing away my wife," the 
inexorable voice continued, "and I've just a 
word of warning for you. You are dealing with 
a man, not a woman, from now on ; and if you 
'phone, write, telegraph, or ever again communi- 
cate in any way with Marian, I'll blow your 
worthless brains out if I have to follow you 
round the world to do it. Do you understand 
that, Mr. Don Lavalle ? " 

" I understand you," said Lavalle, helplessly. 

Again the muzzle bruised the flesh of his 

" And as a last kindly warning, Lavalle," 
Blackie continued, " I suggest that you take 
extreme precautions to see that you do not miss 
the Manchuria when she sails in the morning ; 
because if you are not on board, you won't live 
to see another sunset, if I have to kill you in 
your own club. Will you sail or die ? " 

M I'll sail," said Lavalle. 

" Very well. That's about ail that requires 
words between us, I believe. Go, and remember 
your life is in your own hands. One word of 
any kind to Marian, and you forfeit it. I don't 
know why I don't kill you now. I would if it 
were not for the scandal all this would cause 
when it came out before the jury that would 
acquit me. Now go." 

Lavalle pressed the button that started the 
motor as Blackie stepped back from his side. 

" I've just one word I want to say to you, 
Wilmerding," Lavalle began, his foot on the 
clutch. " It's this : You have only yourself to 
blame. Don't accuse Marian. You forced her 
into the situation you discovered this evening, 
by your neglect of the finest little woman I ever 
met. I was forced into it by a love I admit 
frankly. Don't blame Marian for what you 
yourself have caused. I won't ever see or 
communicate with her again. You have my 
word for that." 

" That's the most decent speech I've heard 
from your lips to-night," said the man beside 
the car, dropping his revolver back into an 
outside pocket. " I don't blame her. I've 
learned many important facts to-night — one of 
which is that the right place for a man is in his 
own home with his own wife. I'm going to 
remember that ; and the wedding-ring that was 
dropped into the ashes to-night is going back 
on the finger it fits. Good night." 

Lavalle, without a word, threw in the clutch, 
and his car sped away and was enveloped and 
hidden by the fog. 

Halfway down the street, Blackie came to 
another car standing at the kerb, with a well- 
muffled chauffeur sitting behind the wheel. As 
he climbed in, the driver uttered a low, thankful 

" Where have you been so terribly long ? " 
she said, reaching out to clasp his hand. " I was 
getting frightfully nervous about you, Blackie, 
particularly since those people went in. What 
happened ? Did you get the jewels ? Did you 
have any trouble ? " 

" No trouble. I have the jewels here — feel 
the packages ; and a whole lot happened," 
answered Blackie, with deep satisfaction. " I've 
a new story to tell you when we get home, Mary. 
It's the story of a big burglar named Blackie, 
and a little boy named Martin Wilmerding, and 
a still littler woolly dog* named Rex, and a 
woman who guessed wrong. I think it will 
interest you. Let's go. I have several things 
to do before we go home." 

On the way he stopped at a telegraph office, 
and sent the following : — 

" To Martin Wilmerding, Del Monte Hotel, 

" The boy needs you. I do too. Please come. 

" Marian." 
A" second message :— ■> 

" Mrs. Marian Wilmerding, 3420, Broadway, 
San Francisco. 

" The package you gave me were what I really 
wanted. Thank you, and good-bye. 

" D. L." 

" Those telegrams, and how they came to 
be sent, will be a mystery to the Wilmerdings 
to the end of time," he thought, deeply con- 

" Let's go home. Mary," he said, then, return- 
ing to his car and climbing in. "I think I've 
finished my night's work, and I don't think I've 
done such a bad job, either." 

He was silent for a moment. 

" I've given a wife to a husband," he said, 
half to himself. " I've given a father to a child ; 
I've given a mother the right to look her son in 
the face without shame ; and I've played square 
with the gamest little pal I ever want to know, 
Martin Wilmerding, Jnr„ and his dog Rex. And 
for my pay I've taken the Wilmerding jewel- 
collection. I wonder who's the debtor 1 " 

by Google 

Original from 


Illustrated hy 
A, Gilbert, R.L 


GROUP of young officers stood 

in the broad passage outside 

Room 39. They laughed, and 

chatted, and bantered ; yet 

they were not really quite at 

their ease. For, when you get 

a summons to Room 39, it 

means that yon are reporting 

for duty after leave, and a few minutes in that 

room decides your fate for the next act in your 

particular little war comedy-drama. 

Now and again the door would open, an officer 
emerge, and another officer enter. The entering 
officer would close the door, quietly and care- 
fully, bring his heels smartly together, and salute. 
The emerging officer would grin at his pais, rap 
out " France/' or " Egypt," or " Mesopotamia,* 
or " Italy/' or some home station, in a guarded 
undertone, shake hands, and disappear rapidly 
down the stairs to make the most of the few 
hours remaining to him. 

" Who s next ? " asked somebody. 
" Me, I think. if 

11 Yes, that's right, Mossy. You're next, and 
I'm after you/' 

* $ Mossy " straightened his tonic, twitched at 
his tie, smoothed lus half -inch of moustache, 
corrected the angle of his cap to the thousandth 
Of an inch, and went in. There was about 

Copyright, lyiS, 

five-feet -eleven of him, in case anyone cares to 
know, and his eyes were blue, his skin pink, and 
all that sort of thing. He had rather more than 
^ his share of ribbons and chevrons* Despite the 
fact that a girl of two-and -twenty had turned 
her hack on him the day before, and walked 
rapidly into a Tube station, the Authorities 
would not have sold him to the enemy for three 
Huns of similar build, age, and position. Now 
you should know Mossy. 

" Name ? " said the officer at the desk* 

** Captain Cutforth, sir." 

* Captain Maurice Cutforth, D + S,(X ? " 

11 Yes, sir/' 

'* You reporting for duty after sick-leave ? " 

M Yes, sir." 

" Quite fit again, Cutforth ? " 

" Yes, thank you, sir." 

" Righto, You've got to bung off to Egypt. 
Got your kit ? r> 

" Most of it, sir." 

"Can you get off to-morrow? I know it's 
short notice, hut we want you there as soon as 
possible. 1 * 

" Very good, sir/' 

" That's topping. Here are your instructions. 
You know what to do. Good-bye, Cutforth, and 
good luck,'* . . . 

■•(kJ5#BW*W rom 

by KebJc Hu^ard 



He had rather less than twenty-four hours in 
London. He wanted a new tunic, and some 
breeches, and some boots, and some shirts, and 
some collars, and cigarettes for the journey. 
His tailor lived in Sackville Street. Mossy hailed 
a taxi, and told the man to drive to his uncle's 
office in the City. 

He did not enjoy the drive. That wee mous- 
tache of his got fearful gyp. Not that he was 
afraid — at any rate, not so much as all that — 
of his uncle. Timothy Cutforth was a pretty 
terrifying person, but ancient civilians in mufti 
lose their terrors after a time, especially when 
you are off to Egypt for six months at least. 
No. Captain Cutforth, D.S.O., was infinitely 
more frightened of the girl of twenty-two who 
had turned her back on him. 

He was almost certain to see her, for she was 
his uncle^s confidential secretary. Mossy trembled 
as he thought of the look she would give him 
out of those amazing eyes. Perhaps, though, 
she would not look at him at all. Perhaps she 
would utterly ignore him. Anyway, if the worst 
came to the worst, he would see her 1 He would 
see her as she came exquisitely into the room, 
and he would hear her as she spoke, in that low 
husky voice of hers, to his unworthy old uncle. 
And he would revel in the sight of her wonderful 
hair. He trembled again as he thought of that 
coil of pure gold. 

You will gather that Mossy had stopped a very 
dangerous one. 

" Mr. Cutforth in ? " 

" Yes, sir. Did you wish to see him ? " 

He wanted to say, " No. I wish to see Miss 
Devenish. Ask her if she'll come and have 
lunch with me. I'm going to Egypt to-morrow. 
Tell her it's our last chance, and I adore her 
beyond the dreams of adoration I " 

Instead of which he said, " Yes, please, if he's 
not engaged." 

He went up in the lift, and was shown straight 
into his uncle's office. Uncle Timothy, for all 
his years, was a very up-to-date and enterprising 
trader. He kept, not only abreast, but ahead of 
the times. He liked to be talked about as a very 
alert person. That, for instance, was- why he 
confided his letters to a dictaphone, instead of 
ringing the bell for Miss Devenish and pouring 
the story direct into her enchanting ears. 

Which* proves that Uncle Timothy, the un- 
natural rascal, was not in love with Miss Devenish. 

" Well, Maurice, my boy, have you come to 
take me out to lunch ? " 

M Yes, uncle, if you like." 

" That doesn't sound very cordial. Never mind. 
I'll take you out instead. I've just cleared off 
all my correspondence, thanks to this splendid 
contrivance. People don't realize the advan- 
tages of a dictaphone, or you'd find them in 
every office in London. Makes you independent 
of your typist. She may be busy, or away ill, 
or gone home, but that doesn't stop you. You 
just take off the receiver, press the switch, say 
what you have to say, and there you are ! Your 
typist removes the cylinder, puts it on her own 
machine, 9ets it going, and out comes the 

correspondence. Then, too, you have a perfect 
record i No disputes ! No telling me I said 
so-and-so I The good old dictaphone can't lie I " 

" It's certainly a wonderful thing. By the way, 
Uncle Timothy, I'm off to Egypt to-morrow." 

" Egypt, eh ? Lucky dog 1 I wish I was ! 
You can think of me in this stuffy office, doing 
the work of ten men with no assistance to speak 
of ! Egypt, eh ? We must have a bottle on 
that 1 I'll just wash my hands, and then I'm 
with you. Here's the paper." 

Alone. Alone, and she was just the other 
side of that door ! Would she come in ? Should 
he ring the bell that summoned her ? No, idiot ! 
That would never do ! She would never forgive 
that ! 

Mossy coughed. No answer. The communi- 
cating door refused to open. One precious 
minute had gone. 

His eyes strayed to the dictaphone. If only 
he had a dictaphone which she was compelled 
to listen to I What fervent messages he would 
breathe on to that smooth substance ! What a 
glorious idea ! One could sit in a room all by 
oneself, with no bewildering beauty to tie your 
tongue in knots, and just let it go ! Let it go 
for all you were worth 1 And then, when she 
turned it on, out would come all the things that 
you had meant to say and never could say 

By Jove ! Why not ? Dare he ? Had he 
time ? Suppose Uncle Timothy came in and 
found him muddling up all the precious corre- 
spondence ? Suppose he got off the mark a bit, 
and talked all through Uncle Timothy's talk ? 

Time was going. Tick-tick. Tick-tick. In 
less than twenty-four hours he would be on his 
way to Egypt. Too late I She. would be 
married to some swanky fellow with red tabs 
by the time he got back ! Maddening thought ! 

Mossy approached the dictaphone on tip- 
toe. He knew exactly how to work it. He 
had watched his uncle a score of times. 

He touched the switch. The thing began 
to revolve. He took up the receiver. Now 
or .never ! Courage, tnon brave I Faint heart 
never won fair lady ! . . , 

It was done. The words had been spoken 
that might make or mar him with Felice. (Felice 
Devenish I Adorable name !) They might also 
mar him with Uncle Timothy, his financial 
anchor in the stormy and expensive sea of life. 
Anyway, make or mar, they had been spoken. 

He stopped the cylinder and replaced the 
receiver. Only just in time ! Mossy had not 
gained the hearthrug more than a second when 
Uncle Timothy returned, reeking of scented 

" Now, Maurice, my boy, I'm ready for you ! 
Feel peckish ? Got a coupon ? No ? Never 
mind ! Oysters are just in again, and a nice 
savoury omelette and a bottle of the Widow 
will keep you going, eh ? Egypt, eh ? Well, 
I never 1 What a war I " 

Over the bottle of the Widow Uncle Timothy 
opened his heart. He confided to Mossy that 
the Government hwi offered him a post of 
considerable importance. 

IWvtHoTTT UK ml In tart N 



"Mind you, Maurice, I didn't jump at it., 
Oh, dear, no ! My reply is very dignified — 
very dignified indeed. They want me and I 
can do without them — that's the situation, 
' and that is what I conveyed, delicately, on the 

"On the — the dictaphone, uncle ? " 

" Yes, my lad/ I'd just finished it when you 
came> in. Wonderful instrument ! Here we 
sit, taking a bite of lunch, and I'm actually 
at my office talking to my typist ! Can you 
beat that ? No, of course you can't ! Fill 
up your glass, my lad, and I'll wish you bo n 
voyage I " 

Uncle Timothy, undoubtedly, was in splendid 
form. The offer from the Government had 
put him on grand terms with himself. He saw, 
in the rosy distance, a knighthood ! Perhaps, 
if he came out of it very well, a baronetcy ! 
" Sir Timothy Cutforth, Bart." Good ! A fine, 
rich, rolling sound about that ! Look well 
on the letters ! Look well on his cards ! Ha ! 

Mossy, in the meantime, was not nearly 
so happy. If his uncle had been talking the 
letter to the" Government just before he came, 
his own message to Miss Devenish— to Felice, 
bless her ! — would follow immediately after 

it. Suppose she ! Suppose somebody 

else ! Oh, but that was too awful to 

contemplate I 

" I suppose you see your letters, Uncle 
Timothy, before they go off ? " 

" See 'em ? Bless the lad, of course I see 
'em ! I have to sign 'em, don't I ? Much 
you know about business ! " 

" I wasn't sure whether you signed them all. 
I thought, possibly, you left some for other 
people to sign." 

" Oh, well, unimportant letters — yes. But 
all the important ones I sign myself. You must 
come back with me to the office, and I'll show 
you that note to the Right Honourable 
Edward Batchelar. I'm proud of that com- 
position, though I say it myself. And now, 
my boy, what about funds ? Egypt is rather 
an expensive place, I've always understood. 
How do you stand at Cox's ? " 

" Don't you bother about that, Uncle Timothy. 
I can manage for the present." 

" Don't you be a young duffer ! You take 
a cheque when you can get it. Money isn't 
so easy come by that you can turn up your 
nose at it. I'm proud of you, my boy, though 
I don't often tell you so, and I like you to 
cut a dash, and look well, and have all the right 
things. There'll be a cheque for a hundred 
for you to put in your pocket when you leave 
the office." 

" You're too good, Uncle Timothy." 

And he meant it. If Uncle Timothy dis- 
covered that his nephew had been making love 
to his private secretary, and using his beloved 
dictaphone to further his suit, he might be 
inclined to agree that he was too good. 

Ignorance being bliss, he linked his arm in 
that of his nephew, and they strolled back to 
the office as amicably as you can imagine. 

- in. 

The neatly-typed letters were lying in a heap 
on Uncle Timothy's desk. He glanced at them 
with pleasant anticipation, bade Mossy be 
seated, and took up his pen. 

Mossy's heart quaked. Felice, to be sure, 
was far too clever to mistake his voice for his 
uncle's, even on the dictaphone. Nor, how- 
ever angry she might be with him — and why 
she was angry with him Heaven alone knew I 
— would she go so far as to ruin his chances 
out of spite. 

All was jvell. Yes, all was well. But he 
wished the ordeal over. 

rf Ah ! " cried Uncle Timothy, at last. " Here 
it is ! Now I'll read it to you ! Much hinges 
on this letter, my boy — far more than you 

" To the Right Honourable Edward Batchelar, 
P.C., Ministry of Inland Supplies. 
" Sir, — I beg to acknowledge receipt of 
your favour of the third inst., wherein you 
do me the signal honour of asking me to take 
up the position of Director-General of the 
Rope and Yarn Supply. 

" Whilst I am deeply sensible of the com- 
pliment you are good enough . to pay me, 
and, as a patriotic citizen, naturally anxious 
to do whatever lies in my power to help my 
country at this juncture, I must beg leave 
to point out that the business I control is 
a vast one, and that I am working with a 
greatly reduced staff, 

" At the same time, if iny duties would 
be such that I could honourably discharge 
them- to your satisfaction, whilst also ful- 
filling my obligations to my fellow-directors 
and the shareholders of this company, you 
may rest assured that I am ready to place 
such technical knowledge as I possess at 
your fullest disposal. 

" I have the honour to remain, Sir, 
" Yours obediently, 

" P.S." Here Uncle Timothy removed and 
polished his spectacles. 

" ' P.S.' ? I never wrote any P.S. that I 
can remember. 

" P.S. — Will you meet me at ' The Genoa * 
at seven this evening ? It's frightfully urgent. 
Haven't a moment to explain, but do, do, do ! *' 

Uncle Timothy, purple in the face, again 
removed his glasses and glared helplessly at 
Maurice. Then, with a groan of inarticulate rage, 
he put his finger on the bell and kept it there. 

The communicating door flew open, but it 
was not Miss Devenish who appeared. The 
secretary who answered the bell was a Miss 
Eliot — a little insignificant thing whom Mossy 
had sometimes seen as one sees a chair, or a 
pen, or a patient clock. 

" I don't want you ! " roared Uncle Timothy. 
" I want Miss Devenish ! Send her in at once ! ° 

Mossy opened his mouth to intervene, but 
all that came forth was a sort of gurgle. 

" What, sir ? " bellowed Uncle Timothy. 
" You keep quiet I Don't you dare to inter- 
fere I This has nothing to do with you I I've 




been insulted in my own office T Somebody 
has been playing a practical joke on me 1 I'll 
practical joke 'em I I J 11 show J em who I am 
Don't stand staring there, Miss Eliot, or what- 
ever your confounded name is ! Send Miss 
Devenish to me at once ! At once f " 

me immediately I 1 win not have things £oing 
on in my office that I know nothing whatever 
about I Who typed these letters ? " 

" I did, Mr. Cutforth/* 

"Oh, yon did, did you ? And did you type thi* 
one to the Right Honourable Edward Batchelar? " 

'uncle timothy REMOVED JH-S glasses and stared HELPLESSLY AT MAURICE, 

* ( I'm very sorry, Mr.Cutforth h but Miss Devenish 
is not here to-day/* 

" Not here ? Why isn't she here ? " 

" She phoned through to say she had a very 
bad headache, I should have told you earlier, 
hut I could hear you were very busy v^th the 
dictaphone " 

" Busy be hanged ! You ought to have told 

11 Yes. Mr. Cut forth." 

M Oh I You did. did you ? And who told 
you to add that postscript about meeting me 
at some filthy low-down restaurant ? Where 
did you get that from, eh ? " 

"It was on the dictaphone, Mr* Cut- 
forth." Original from 

" WfefeiWnkAi».ft " y * ™ not 




on the dictaphone ! T ought to know, I suppose, 
what I said on the dictaphone ? Ji 

M Certainly, Mr. Cutforlh." 

x * Very well, then I Did anyone come into 
this room besides yourself after we went out 
to lunch ? " 

" No, Mr. Cutforth.' J 

" Are you sure of that ? M 

" Quite sure/* 

" And yet you have the face to stand there 
and tell me that I said something that I know 
I did not say, and could never by any possibility 
have said ? Didn't it occur to you that I must 
be crazy to talk a lot of rot like that to a Cabinet 
Minister ? " 

" Wgll, Mr, Cutforth, I certainly thought it 
queer, but I dito't ftVe f.a Jeave it out. You 
sometime? put—'* Miss Eliof: hesitated. 




" Sometimes put what ? Speak out ! " 

" Well, rather unexpected things in your 

" Oh, I do, do I ? At any rate, I never yet 
said anything in a letter as unexpected as that ! 
Fetch me the cylinder ! " 

Miss Eliot, as she turned to leave the room, 
gave a glance — just the merest glance — at Mossy, 
who had taken up a strategic position just behind 
his uncle's chair. Mossy was no actor, but he 
contrived to throw into "that hundredth part of 
a second all the agony and all the entreaty 
which he was feeling. 

" Now I '* cried Uncle Timothy, working his 
shaggy eyebrows up and down with astonishing 
rapidity, and rubbing his hands together in 
savage anticipation of detecting a culprit red- 
tongued, so to speak. "'Now ! Now we'll see 
who has had the impertinence — the folly — to 
meddle with my private correspondence ! Such 
a thing has never happened before all the years 
I've been in business I The rascal shall be made 
to smart for it, I can tell you ! I'll give him 
such a ! Halloa 1 What's that ? " 

From the next room there had come, at that 
instant, a slight crash, followed by a feminine 
exclamation that conveyed dismay. A moment 
later, Miss Eliot entered with the cylinder — in 
fifty fragments. 

" What the deuce is that ? " roared Uncle 

" I'm so dreadfully sorry, Mr. Cutforth, bu^ 
just as I'd removed the cylinder from the machine 
it slipped out of my hand and " 

" Slipped out of your hand ? D'you mean to 
tell me you've smashed it ? " 

" I'm .very, very sorry ! " 

The old man ground his teeth. He did not 
speak. Anger had deprived him of speech. 
With a feeble wave of the hand he dismissed 
the luckless under -secretary. 

It took him a long time to calm down, but he 
eventually recovered himself sufficiently to write 
the cheque for a hundred. Mossy, with a deep 
sigh of relief, slipped it into his letter-case, and 
bade his uncle a dutiful and almost touching 

Whilst Mossy was waiting for the lift, Miss 
Eliot came out of her room. This was just the 
chance for which he had been longing. Seizing 
her by both hands, he thanked her again and 

" Oh, it doesn't matter," said Miss Eliot, 
looking away and recovering her hands as quickly 
as possible. 

" But it does ! You were a regular little brick, 
and I sha'n't forget it in a hurry ! " 

" I didn't do it on purpose, you know." 

" What ? Smash the thing ? " 

" Oh, yes, that. It was the only way -out. 

But I really did mistake your voice. You don't 
speak much alike in the ordinary way, but on 
the dictaphone " 

" Yes, I quite see. I say, is. Miss Deveniah 
really ill ? " 

" How should I know ? " 

" Didn't she tell you over the 'phone what 
was the matter ? " 

" She said she had a splitting headache." 

" Nothing else ? " 

" No. But I thought her voice sounded a little 
— a little unusual." 

" What sort of unusual ? " 

" Perhaps you know better than I do." 

" Perhaps I do. We both got a bit ratty, and 
I know I said one or two things I didn't in the 
least mean. And the rotten part of it is I'm 
off to Egypt to-morrow." 

" To-morrow ? " Miss Eliot shot a quick look 
at him. Then she peered down the shaft of the 
lift to conceal a rather white little face. 

" Yes. I wish I could have made it up with 
her before I go." 

" Well* why — why don't you ? " 

" How can I ? She's not here." 

Miss Eliot laughed — a curious, dry laugh. 
" Wait a moment," she said, and disappeared 
into her room. Presently she returned with a 
slip of paper, which she gave to Mossy. 

Mossy read it. " Is this her address ? " 

Miss Eliot nodded. 

" By Jove, you are a stunner ! Shall I 
'phone through and ask if I can call to say 
good-bye ? " 

" Yes, I think I should — if you want to get 
ticked off." 

" W r rong again ! What asses men are ! I'll 
get a taxi and buzz down there in twenty 
minutes ! " 

" And I must re-type that letter, or / shall 
get ticked off." 

" Good-bye, Miss Eliot. I shall always think 
of you as my good angel." 

Up came the lift at last. He stepped, 
saluted, and sank from sight. As for Miss Eliot, 
she went back into her office, and bent patiently 
over the typewriter. 

" This a fresh copy of the letter ? " growled 
Uncle Timothy. 

" Yes, Mr. Cutforth." 

" H'm ! Seems all right this time. What's 
that smudge ? " 

" Smudge ? Oh, I'm sorry, I " 

" Never mind. Get the letter off." 

Miss Eliot waited half an hour, and then, 
rather tremblingly, she rang up Miss Devenish. 

" She's gorn out with an officer," replied a 
strange voice. 

44 Thank you," said Miss Eliot. " That's all 
I wanted to know." 

by Google 

Original from 




Former *pTi&a1e Secretary to the //on. :I$T4ArJ IVhttlock- Atreriean Miniiter to !T}eIgium* 

Here is a wonder -story of war, told for the first time. Edith Cavell, an English nurse in 
Brussels, was murdered by the Germans for helping French and Belgian soldiers to cross the 
frontier Did you know she was betrayed by a renegade Belgian ? After the tragedy 
of her brutal conviction and her heroic death there followed another remarkable drama. 
The narrative of these thrilling events i» here told by the secretary of Mr, Brand Wbitlock, 
the American Minister to Belgium It is a story of retribution, earned out with extra- 
ordinary persistence and courage, 

HE arrest of Miss Cave] I oil the 
5th of August. 191 5i created 
little stir in Brussels. Except 
in the immediate entourage of 
her nursing borne and in Ameri- 
can Legation circles it passed 
practically un perceived* The 
mans, in their usual clan- 
destine way, had arrested her " without leaving 
any trace/' Like many other unhappy sonb 
who fell into their dutches she just disappe. 
from the dismal routine ei Belgian existence 

during the occupation. The flinging of the 
tender and unobtrusive little woman into the 
miasma] pool of German treachery known as 
the Kommandantur caused hardly a ripple on 
the surface of Brussels life. 

But one morning Brussels, which had seen at 
close range the abomination of Lou vain. Tamines, 
and Aerschot, which had witnessed desecrations 
that the German mind alone can conceive and 
the German ?riU can execute— Brussels, btosS 
with atrocities aad cruelties — Brussels awoke 
to find . to lite nv horror* 



It was October 12th, 1915* About 3.30 that 
morning, gentle little Miss Cavell had been Jed 
Out into the yard of St, Gi 1 1 c ■ s Prison and wantonly 
shot down. And blood- red a/fiches, posted all 
over the walls of the city, shrieked the news of 
the abhorrent deed to a dismayed population. 

A wave of indignation and a shudder of horror 
parsed over Brussels ; then gradually other 
engrossing events at*sorbed the conversation, 
Brussels resumed its normal, or rather its ab- 
normal, appearance, and brave, kind little Miss 
Cavell, sleeping in that bleak prison yard at 
St. Gilles, became a memory, a thing of the past. 

But as time went on, in the cafes and brasseries 
where the great majority of the population was 
wont to congregate, amid the maledictions that 
the Belgians showered on their oppressors, when 
the murder of the stout-hearted frail English 
nurse was mentioned, one heard sinister rumours 
of treachery and bet ra yah It soon became ari 
open secret that Miss Cavell had been apprehended 
and convicted through the denunciation of one 

whom she had befriended. 
His name was freely men- 
tioned among the coterie 
of well -in formed Belgians 
who assembled at various 
meeting - places in the 
commune of Ixelles. 

It was my custom to 
frequent the Porte de 
Namur, and, while offi- 
cially neutral, my senti- 
ments were sufficiently 
well known to the natives 
to give me access to the 
m ost i nti m ate con f er- 
ences of men who had 
sworn never to bend 
under the German yoke. 
Thus, soon after the exe- 
cution of Miss Cavell, 1" 

was awq 
of the 





delivered her into the hands of the bloodthirsty 

He was called van der . No, I shall not 

mention his name. First, because he belonged 
to a race that electrified the world by its courage 
and abnegation during that dark month of 
August, 1914. His father is, or perhaps by this 
time was, a respectable citizen of Brussels, an 
ex-officer in the army, who promptly disowned 
his son wh£n the crime had been proved. 

He was a young man of military age and bad 
habits, and the emoluments received for his work 
in one of the departments of public service of 
the city were inadequate to gratify his expensive 
tastes and satiate his craving for pleasure. And 
so, when a tentacle of that octopus known as the 
German espionage system reached out and 
encircled him, it found an unresisting victim. 

The Germans had become aware of a leak 
across the frontier through which filtered many 
young men capable of bearing arms against 

them and anxious to do so. Van der , 

affecting profound patriotism and professing 
deep hatred for the violators of his country, 
went to Miss Cavell and requested to be helped 
into Holland. He was introduced to Baucq 
(the man who was shot at the same time as 
Miss Cavell), and all arrangements were made 
for his passage into the Netherlands. On the 
eve of his departure, when he had penetrated 

the secrets of the organization, van der* 

repaired to the Kommandantur, and the next day 
Miss Cavell, Baucq, and Sevcrin were arrested. 

Incidentally, that same day van der was 

buying wine for two women in a ca/4 near the 
Place de Brouckere. 


But while the wave of horror and loathing that 
swept the civilized world at the news of the 
murder of Miss Cavell spent itself in screeching 
headlines and helplessly bitter comment, in the 
heart of Louis Bril it assumed a more concrete 

Louis was a mild, inoffensive-looking little 
chap, a beardless youth of twenty-five or less, 
with pale blue eyes and a shock of yellow hair. 
But the thin lips that formed a small strong 
mouth were hard and determined. He walked 
with a slight stoop of the shoulders, the result 
of long hours spent over the chess-board, a game 
at which he was an expert. Before the war he 
had been living in Paris, but the outbreak of 
hostilities had caught him at Brussels, where he 
was visiting his aged parents and other relatives. 
He offered his services as a volunteer, but they 
were not accepted, and he remained behind and, 
with ill-suppressed feelings of rage, saw . the 
Germans enter the capital. Later on he managed 
to slip across into France, whence he returned 
on some mission, the exact character of which 
I have never been able to ascertain, but which I 
am sure did not purport to further the designs 
of the German army. 


I have some of the details that follow from an 
Ultimate friend of his, a young schoolmaster of 

Brussels whom I knew well, while the others 
came under my personal observation. 

An arrtte of Governor-General von Bissing, 
re-edited and republished from time to time, 
decreed that any man found in the possession 
of firearms would be punished with death. 

However, one night while engaged in a game 
of chess with his friend the schoolmaster, in the 
little room that he occupied on" the top floor of 
an old building in Ixelles, where he kept out of 
sight of the Germans, Bril suddenly whipped 
out two automatic revolvers from his pockets — 
" Browneengs," he called them — and said to 
his startled opponent : — 

" One of the pills (prunepux) in this Browneeng 
is for the man who betrayed Miss Cavell, and 1 
shall never rest until I get him." 

Days, weeks passed, and the betrayer of the 
heroic English nurse continued to walk the 
streets of Brussels with apparent impunity. 

But the long, patient shadow of van der 

went on. It could be done only at night, as 
Bril did not dare to leave his room during the 

day. And van der , whether through 

premonition of impending evil or from tempera- 
ment, kept to the bright streets and the illumin- 
ated cafis. 4 

And the endless vigil of Bril continued. 

Promptly at the stroke of six, as van der 

would emerge from the office on the Rue de Trone, 
where he performed his respectable duties, Bril, 
crouching in the shadow on the other side of the 
street, would fall into step and would not allow 
his quarry to get out of his sight, as the latter 
went about his di reputable work. " 

Generally the trail led to the Kommandantur 
through the Rue de Trone, the brightly illumin- 
ated Boulevard, to the still brighter Rue de la Loi. 
Bril would take up his post on the corner, across 

from the Kommandantur, and when van der 

-had completed his report to his employers, the 
self-appointed avenger could see him come out, 
generally accompanied by plain-clothes men of 
the German secret service. Thence he followed 
to some restaurant, where the party settled down 
to dinner, and Bril knew that his work was done 
for the night, as there was little chance of the 
bodyguards leaving their prottgt. 

On other evenings the traitor went into town 
at once, car No. 15 or No. 14 being boarded at 
the Boulevard after a walk of a few hundred 

yards from his office. But van der never 

wandered from the crowded thoroughfares and 
never left the gleam of the electric lights. 

Bril, like Nemesis on his trail, followed. 

About eleven one evening two polizeis, 
patrolling their beat, came lumbering up a 
lonely street leading to the Chausse de Haecht 
in Schaerbeck, a suburb of Brussels. It was a 
cold, rainy, dark night, and the polizeis did not 
notice an obstruction on the sidewalk until one 
of them stumbled upon it. With an impatient 
oath he stopped and picked up the body of a man. 
It was still warm and blood was trickling from 
a wound above the left temple, while the clothing 
on the left side of the body was saturated with 
blood that had not yet had time to coagulate. 
One bulk* had gokit through the heart anc 




another had traversed the brain. It was the 

body of van der . When searched at the 

police-station, besides a goodly gum of morteyjLn 
German bills of large denomination, there was 
found, among other papers, a little perfumed 
note written in a feminine hand and which read : 

M Je V attends ce soir thez P. pres du Pare 
Josaphat." [" I will meet you this evening at 
P.'s near Jehoshaphat Park. 1 ] 

There is no doubt that more than one huadred 
persons in Brussels, among them at least ten 
members of the Belgian police force, knew who 
had committed this murder, or rather who had 
executed this sentence. But weeks went on 
and no arrest was made. And so no surprise 
was felt when one day a notice was posted that 

^ing to the apathy displayed by the Belgian 
police PJ the case had been taken out of their 
hands and would be handled by the German 
military police. 


Tin: affioke ended with the only two arguments 
the Germans know : bribery and terrorism. A 
reward of one thousand marks was < Meted to 
anyone denouncing the murderer and a threat 

of death was held over the head of whosoever 
should harbour him. 

Hunted like a wild l>east, Bril for more than 
a month managed to elude the vigilance of his 
juirsuers by remaining indoors during the day 
and coming out for a lew minutes at night. 

One afternoon the Germans, acting appar- 
ently under precise instructions and with full 
knowledge as to his whereabouts* entirely 
surrounded the block in which the room occu- 
pied by Bril was to be found. One shudders 
to think that perhaps the reward of one thousand 
marks may not have been totally foreign to the 
source of their information. 

Bril. warned in time, clambered to the roof, 
with two plain-clothes men in hot pursuit and 
blazing away at him. After a run of a few 
hundred feet over roofs, he reached the edge of 
one overlooking a lane about twelve feet wide p 
and without hesitating the fugitive leaped across 
it, landed safely on another house a storey lower, 
and ehided his pursuers, who looked about, 
hesitated, consulted one another* and could not 
muster up suffci^rt ^rwv^^ to take the plunge. 
Bril made his way to the street and was gone* 

He took rtf uge at Vilvoide i[jt town about ten 



kilometres from Brussels) and had nearly com- 
pleted arrangements for a dash across the death- 
dealing wires into Holland— was to have left on 
the following day, in fact — when he returned to 
Brussels to thank the man who had made it 
possible for him to escape* fell into a trap, and 
was arrested* He disappeared behind the 
sombre walls of the Kommandantur, au grand 
secret. And for two months nothing was heard 
of Louis Bril. 


Dne morning a heavy, plodding German 
soldier bearing a flimsy scrap of paper entered 
the little cafe owned and operated by Etienne 
D. t at the corner of the Rue de Trone and the 
Place de Londres, Mrs* D. was Bril's sister. 
The soldier handed D. the paper. It was' a 
brief statement to the effect that Louis Bril 
had been sentenced to death (peine de mart) 
and would be shot the next morning. 

While no one, even his lawyer, is permitted 
to visit one accused before a German Military- 
Tribunal during the investigation and trial (?), 
by a surprising generosity in the Teutonic 
character his relatives are allowed to call on 
him at the prison after sentence has been pro- 
nounced. Inasmuch as the judgment and 
execution are seldom more than twenty-four 
hours apart, it means that a last visit may be 
had with a loved one who is already in the 
shadow of death. 

I was returning from the Theatre Moliere 
that evening and quite by chance entered 
Etienne 's cafe, 

Etienne *$ wife was seated on a little stool 
behind the bar, weeping convulsively, and her 
husband's face was pale and set, and every now 
and then tears would well up into his eyes T but 
he would brush them off. shake his head p and 
continue to talk to the little group of the faithful 
who were gathered about his bar condoling 
with him. Two little cherubs, one aged five 
and the other three, scenting that something 
was wrong, had refused to be put to bed, and. 
leaning over their mother's knees, looked up 
into her red, swollen eyes t blissfully oblivious of 
what it was all about, but with a puzzled ex- 
pression on their little faces. 

The atmosphere was permeated with gloom 
and charged with despair and impotent rage, 

Etienne and his wife r in the company of Bril's 
father, had just returned from their last visit to 
poor Louis at the prison of St. Gilles. lie had 
been very brave, had tried to console them and 
to cheer them up. He was content to die. felt 
that he was giving up his life for a good cause — 

the suppression of van der having been 

but an incident in the task that he had set him- 
self to perform with the limited means at his 
command. He expressed a regret, not for life 
itself, but because he had to go while the Baches 
were still in Brussels and he would be unable to 
render further services to his country. While 



his sister was weeping in. her father's arms, he 
had called Etienne aside and had begged him 
to go out and procure some poison for him, as 
he would like to cheat the Germans of the satis- 
faction of standing him against the wall* Of 
course, poor Etienne could do nothing of the sort. 
The hour allotted for the visit being at an end, 
a young sentry told them not unkindly and with 
a voice quivering with emotion that they must 
leave. For a moment Louis was on the verge 
of breaking down, but he promptly rallied, and 
when his relatives left he was very cool and 
collected and brave. 

In the early hours of the damp, drizzling 
morning, two figures muffled in great -coats and 
furs might have been seen huddling close to the 
fence near the main entrance to the Tir National. 
It was Etienne and his wife* 

Just as dawn was breaking in the weeping 
sky, the savage howl of a siren horn was heard 
in the distance, and presently three huge military 
automobiles drew up to the gate, 

A few sharp, guttural commands : a squad 
of soldiers stepped out, some officers , then a 
priest and a pale little man walking with a firm 
step and head erect between two giant guards, 
closed the ghostly procession. They disappeared 
promptly inside the grounds, One of the officers 
could be heard roaring a few final order-, and 
then silence, A pause, tense, interminable , , * 
A volley, the crash of twelve rifles, a final pistol- 
shot, and what had been Louis Bril lay on the 
wet grass, close to that earth that was soon to 
swallow him for ever, 

Bril's father died of a broken heart a few 
weeks later, after having been refused permission 
to give the body of his son a Christian burial. 

And a month after the execution, the family, 
having given up all hope of obtaining the body 
of young Bril, decided to have a solemn requiem 
mass sung in one of the churches t and drew up 
circulars to inform their friends and relatives. 
" Lettres de /aire part" they are called, targe 
folders with wide black mourning margins, 
giving a brief history of the short span of life of 
the departed one and ending with an invitation 
to attend the funeral service of one who had 
died for his country (" mart pour la pairie ,h ). 

The German censor, to whom all proofs of 
printed matter must be submitted before it is 
circulated, glanced over the paper just once and, 
with a grunt, ran a colossal, brutal German 
blue pencil through the words '* mart pour la 
pairie > ' ' 

But perhaps some day, when Belgium is 
restored to her valiant King, when the cruel 
vandals that now desecrate its noble soil have 
been rlung across the Rhine, the body of brave 
little Louis Bril will be laid to rest in that 
beautiful cemetery at Ixelles where his father 
awaits the final call. And over his tomb a 
modest marble monument will bear the 
inscription ; — 


Original from 



Illustrated by 
Alfred Leete. 

EMBER did not like the look 
of the future, It had a sort of 
twiri-cylinder-two-seater look, 
and there was a nasty tinkling 
in his ears like wedding- bells. 

But he had been engaged to 

Daisic — and her mother, who 

was a limpet-like old lady— for 

four long years, and there seemed no help for 

itj unless— 

" Unless some better, richer feller *n me/' said 
Pember to himself, as he looked out into the 
pleasance of Dover Street while he cracked his 
breakfast egg, H ' chipped in and stole her from 

Suddenly Pember thought of George. 

** John/' said Pember to liis man, " ring up the 

John knew without telling whose chambers 
were wanted, and soon Pember was speaking to 

" George," lie said, " it's years since I've seen 
you, old man, Could you lunch to-day ? You, 
me, and a topping girl and her mother, Say 
where and what time. You're a busy man, I 

Pember knew George wasn't a busy man ; he 
was only busier than Pember. And in a short 
while he had persuaded him to join his party at 
the Savoy at one-thirty. 

" John," said Pember, " ring up Miss Bledlow." 

When John had done this, Pember spoke to 

'* Darling/' he said, " bring your mother along 
to lunch at the Savoy at one -thirty. Such a 
nice cbap is coming. My oldest friend. Rich, 
young, no end of good connections. Barrister. 
Try to like him for my sake. I want you to see 
a good deal of him when you're married/' 

Pember had always been greatly tickled by 
his own keen gift of humour, so here he was 
obliged to stop and cough so that he should not 
laugh. , Z 1- 

Then he continued . " He's such a brilliant 

Copyright, 191 3, 

fellow I Just been briefed for a big case. He'll 
be Attorney-General before he's done. Well, 
you'll come ? Bye-bye, dearie/ 1 

Pember rang off and wiped his brow, 

" John/' he said, " call up Josephs." 

While John was doing this — and it took some 
little time to get to the private ear of Josephs, 
the moneylender, in Victoria Street— Pember '9 
young cousin, the sixth Marquess of Caucassie, 
let himself in with the latchkey which Pember 
had given him, 

"I'll wait while you dress/ 1 said Caucassie* 
H ' I've nothing to do/' 

Pember liked the admiration which he always 
felt was bestowed upon him by Caucassie. He 
used to give him a great deal of advice, to which 
the pink youth listened with attention, for 
Pember was forty and wicked. This morning 
as he chose his tie Pember was in his happiest 

" IVe been thinking," he began, " if I hadn't 
been destined for the — ah — well, if I hadn't 
been destined not to do anything, I believe I 
should have been rather a nut in the literary 
direction. In fact, I'm going to write a book 
about all the people I know — sort of reflections — 
and the people I know will pay me not to publish 
it. That's where the money lies. But I must 
tell you what I was thinking, It was that how- 
ever bad a hole you're in you can always get 
out of it if you can persuade some less able chap 
to let you climb over him." 

" Then you leave the other chap in the hole/ 1 
said Caucassie. 

" That," said Pember, " is his affair/* 

Pember was in an awfully good humour ; and 
when they went down into Dover Street, seeing 
his tailor coming, he took Caucassie's arm, and 
looked so blithe and gay that the tailor, who 
had been coming to call politely before resorting 
to other measures, turned round and went home 
again . 

Pember left Oili^issd in Piccadilly and took 

by May Ldgriuon. 

2 So 


Mr, Josephs of his coming, and Mr, Josephs was 
ready for Pember, But he was not ready enough, 
for he parted with fifty pounds on g rounds which 
seemed to him afterwards perhaps a little 
insufficient. However, the chief point was that 
Pember should have cash enough to do his party 
well at lunch, 

Daisie, with her mother well in hand, arrived 
only half an hour late, and Pember saw with 
pleasure that she had surpassed herself, Her 
little face looked even littler, her big eyes 
bigger, her pouting mouth pouted more, and 
yesterday's henna shampoo had left her hair 
simply gorgeous. And to anyone who had not 
heard her giggle continuously for four years, 
that giggle was a thing of joy — young, fresh, 
and true. 

This is what George thought of the giggle 

directly he heard it- It was what Pember had 
thought long ago, 

Daisie did not tell George she was engaged 
to Pember. Pember had known she wouldn't, 
after what he had said over the wire, She had, 
iu fact, left her ring accidentally on the dressing- 
table at home. Pember had thought she might. 
And as Pember had an engagement* he said, at 
four, it was George who, in spite of being such 
a busy man, drove Daisie and her mother home. 
Exactly a week later, during which time 
Pember left the Bledlows and George entirely 
unmolested, George came to see Pember, George 
was very grave over Ills defection as Pember s 
friend, but exalted over his amazing luck as 
Daisie N s fiance, It took him some time to 
begin the story of Ms treachery, but at last he 
managed it, 

11 Pember. old man," he said, " I liavc betrayed 

Pember got up from his breakfast — this was 
the only hour when his friends were sure of 
finding him in ; other times he was making: 
himself at home with his rich relations — and 
went and leaned his elbow on his Adams mantel- 
pien/p staring, perhaps bitterly, into the fire. 

"Daisie," said George, " D-d -don't ynu 
notice I call her by her first name ? " 

' ' That s no t hin g/ ' said Pern be r ; " mode ru 
familiarities are simply deplorable, but 
frightfully nice/* 

" I have taken her from you.** said 
George, walking about agitatedly, 

Pember took the blow simply splen- 

" You've the dearest, sweetest girl in 
London/' said he. 

44 I know," said George, in ecstasy. 
"Tell her not to worry about me." 
added Pember; "III get over it, I 

" She's been worrying/' said George. 
" I didn't know, of course, when I 
lunched with you that day, that she 
and you were engaged, but as soon as 
she guessed how it was with me — er, and 
she loves me, Pember — she told me. 

Poor little girl ! How she " 

"Cried/' said Pember, "and I know 
what she said to you. Her first thought, 
bless her I was : * But how about him * 
He does adore me so ! ' " 

" How did you know? " cried George. 
Pember knew because it was what 
Daisie had said to him four years ago 
when he had stolen her from a com- 
mercial traveller in tea. 

George and Pember parted firmer 
friends than ever that morning, Pem- 
ber a sense of humour caused iiim that 
evening to invent a new diah for dinner 
— which he happened to be taking at 
home in spite oi himself — and he showed 
John how to prepare it. It was an 
tntree, and lie called it — 



Scallop de veau Avril 
fdE'thftitlsppv date was April 5th. 




One morning a few weeks later John reported 
that George was at the telephone. 

Pember guessed what it was all about before 
be bad pulled on his dressing-gown. 
" I must see you," said George. 
" Well, if you must, you must," said Pember. 
" I'll come to breakfast," George added. 
So he did. 

George had changed. His cheerfulness had 

" Break right into it," said Pember. 
"Pember," said George, "for Gawd's sake, 
save me." 

Pember pretended not to understand, and 
made George tell him. 

" I can't do it," said George, after he had 
talked for some half -hour. " I know you were 

fond of her and all that " 

" Don't sp&re my feelings," said Pember. 
So George did not. " She hasn't let me rest 
a moment. I've been up all night and all day. 
She's one of those girls who like being engaged, 
just like some girls like hunting and some like 
lacrosse. And the money I've spent ! I've 
spent money I haven't got. And I owe Josephs 
more'n I care to think of now. And that laugh ! 
T' dream it 1 And her mother ! Always egging 
me on to work 1 Wants Daisie and me to hurry 
up and marry, sb's she can have a rest. Says 

her old bones " 

" She's been feeling like that ever since I first 
knew her," said Pember. " And so you want 
to break your engagement ? Well — urn — 

urn " 

George looked at Pember with the faith of a 
child ; for somehow the idea was with him — 
quite shapeless but still existent — that Pember 
before him had got out of it very comfortably. 

M Of course," said Pember, draping his silk 
dressing-gown round him thoughtfully, as he 
leaned upon his Adams mantelpiece, " it's not 
the kind of thing I like to hear a fellow say* 

If I didn't know you so well But I do 

know you well, and that ends it." 

" I would give anything in reason," said 
George, fiercely, " to break away." 
Pember half closed his eyes. 
" What is anything ? " he asked. " Is it 
money ? " 
" Yes," said George. 

Pember shivered a little. " Of course," he 
murmured, " you should get out of the thing 
quietly, like a gentleman. Breach simply isn't 
" Lord 1 No ! " said George. 
Pember then said : " George, I could help 
you if I could only buy myself the leisure. But 
just now my own affairs take up all my time. 
I am planning a book." 

"There's nothing in that," said George; 
" there's much more in helping me." 
Pember waited for George to particularize. 
" If I could raise twenty-five cash," added 
George, " would it pay you for your time and 
trouble, old man ? " 

" It would pay my out-of-pocket expenses, 
no doubt," said Pember," and no friend of mine 
would insult me, old man, by offering me more." 

" Is it done, then ? " said George, in incredulous 

" I believe so," Pember replied. 
George went away, looking more like his old 
self, and Pember sat down to think. The dibris 
of a plot like a newspaper serial, to run till 
further orders, littered itself about his brain. 
" Why ! " he thought, " the girl's a gold mine. 
With henna and things I can run her till she's 
fifty." Being a humorist, Pember was also 
very much amused by his own cleverness. 
" John," he said, " ring up Miss Bledlow." 
He was soon speaking to Daisie. 
" Daisie," said he, " don't be alarmed, I'm 
not going to make love to you. I've got myself 
well in hand. I want you to do me a favour. 
It's a very little thing for all you've made me 
suffer — though I hope I can take my gruel like 
a gentleman. It's this. I've got a chap dining 
with me to-night at the Carlton — a very rich 
chap, fairly rolling, in fact, whom I want to 
stand well with. And I want to give him a 
top-hole evening. If you and your mother — I 
know George is booked to-night. I'm sure he 

wouldn't mind. He can trust me. You will ? 

Ring off. dear, will you ? " 
" Why ? " replied Daisie. 
" It's agony to hear your voice," said Pember, 
truthfully, and he hung up the receiver. 

" John," he said, " I'll dress." So he dressed, 
and just as he went out into Dover Street the 
young Caucassie, pink as a cherub, drove up in 
his racing-car. 

" Halloa, old bean ! " said Caucassie. 
Pember looked at his cousin from a new angle 
this morning. A marquess ? A trump 1 But 
not yet — not yet ! He decided to save up 
Caucassie very tenderly. " Well, Frank," he 
replied, kindly, " will you drive me to Victoria 
Street ? I've got to call on Josephs." 

Caucassie would always drive anybody any- 
where, so he took Pember to Victoria Street. 

Mr. Josephs' own desk was close to a window 
overlooking the traffic below, and something of 
a motorist himself, when he heard the soft 
scream of the racer as she turned her long body 
and drew up at his door he looked out, and saw 
the Marquess of Caucassie driving Pember, and 
they looked as thick as thieves. This created a 
very nice impression indeed. Then Pember 
alighted insouciantly, and in the hallway of the 
office ran into George coming out. 

" You ! " said George. " Bit of luck ! I'd 
rather not keep it on me." He thrust on Pember 
a wad of notes. " Twenty-five I " he said. 
" Josephs let me have it. Look here, you're 
going to pull the thing off, aren't you ? " 

" Yes," replied Pember. " I'm seeing a man 
here, named Brown. Know him ? No ? You 
haven't missed much." He waved George on 
gaily, entered the lift, and was borne up to 
Mr. Josephs' office. 

Pember was awfully affable to Mr. Josephs. 
" I've not come to borrow," he said, genially, 
grasping his hand, " but to ask you to come and 
have a bit of dinner with me at the Carlton 
to-night. Seven-thirty ? Eight ? As you like. 
We'll be a jolly kittle party, just four." 


2 5 * 


And at eight they were a jolly little party 
of four at the Carlton. Pember noted that 
Daisie was not wearing George's ring, and he 
guessed the careless girl had left it on the dressing- 
table at home* 

Mr. Josephs looked rich. He oozed riches. 
And— he was a widower of extreme susceptibility 
— he was tremendously taken with Daisie. 

After dinner, Pember being booked, he said, 
to go on to a dance at a relation's in May f air „ 
Mr. Josephs drove the ladies home. 

Pember rang up George. " May I advise 
you," said he. " to lose yourself in work for the 
next two weeks* and at the end we will see 
what we will see. And if nothing has happened 
1 will give you back the change out of your 
t wen t y -n ve pounds . ' ' 

The thing worked once more like clockwork, 
as Pembcr trusted :t would do, for he had 

better dme with me to-night- John shall do us 
a special menu, Let's see. It's June 3 r d." 

And for dinner in Pember "s rooms they had 
Consomme, Scallop du veau Avrit, PouUt uvea 
sauce de juin t and dessert and champagne 
brought in lavishly by George. And Pembcr 
was very mellow, and uttered some of his subtlest 

Pember took to visiting Daisie and her 
mother again, frequently letting Daisie have 
the pleasure of his silent agony of unrequited 
love, and keeping in close touch with Mr. Josephs, 
for he did not wish the new fianci to lean, when 
the time fame, on any bosom other than his. 
This work kept Pember in town half through 
August, instead of going down to some of his 
relations in Devonshire. 

It was on August 18th that Mr, Josephs made 
a confidence to Pember. 



immense respect for the abilities of Daisie and 
her mother. At the end of ten days George 
was sent for to the Bled lows' flat to take part 
in such a scene as Daisie loved. He came, and 
told Pember about it afterwards. 

" She said she knew she had ruined me for life, 
and that my prospects were irretrievably lost." 

M And she cried ? " 

" And said she wished she weren't so attractive 
to men,' 1 

" She lies awake all night thinking of the 
harm she does." 

" And wishing she were more like less -gifted 
girls, who haven't the responsibility of men's 
lives on their hands." 

After a pause Pember began to laugh richly, 
" George," said he, with the mellow nafveti 
which sits so pleasantly on fat men. ** you'd 

" You're a man with a great social ability, 1 
can see/' he said. Then he took him aside and 
told him. 

" Well/' said Pember, when he had heard, 
"I'd rather you hadn't told me. Visiting them 
as I do — I'm a Bohemian literary sort of feller, 

you know, and of course I do visit people who 

Well, I don't mind telling you now that I was 
simply staggered when I knew what you d been 
and gone and done. You're an old bird to be 
caught with chaff I And such chaff 1 However, 
the things done ; and that's that. I don't see 
what more I can say, except this : I'm sorry — 
1 ni very sorry, 1 * 

Mr, Josephs perspired very much. ** But/* 
he urged, " what would you do ? " 

iJ Really," said Pemt^r, " I should act 


2 $$ 

done, of course. There you are. That's 

" I'd give a prize for a solution," said Mr. 

Pember raised his eyebrows. " Indeed ! " 
said he, languidly. " What sort of prize ? " 

" A cash one," replied Mr. Josephs, with 
anguish. " I'd pay fifty pounds to anyone for 
a mere workable suggestion as to how I could 
break away from that confounded girl. Have 
you ever noticed her giggle ? " 

" Well/* said Pember, " I shouldn't like to 
take money from a friend — such as I consider 
you, Josephs — but the fact is I could help you, 
I verily believe, if I could buy myself the leisure. 
But I'm busy. I'm on a book " 

" What would it cost to buy the leisure ? " 

" Oh, well," said Pember, " fifty pounds down 
might do it." 

" Done with you 1 " cried Mr. Josephs. 

" Don't go to see her for a week at least." said 
Pember ; " leave all to me. I'll give you your 

After Mr. Josephs had left, Pember, with his 
usual kindness of heart uppermost, somehow 
thought of George. " I wonder if I couldn't do 
good old George another good turn ? " he said 
to himself. " John," he added, " ring up the 
Temple." And to George he said, " I say, old 
thing, I've been thinking about that last twenty- 
five pounds you borrowed from Josephs to give 
me. It dont seem right somehow about my 
taking it. Of course, it is right — but, well, there, 
I'm a sensitive chap. P'r'aps I'm silly, p'r'aps 
I'm not. I think ,1 know a way to get him to 
let you off— he's going to be under a pretty 
stiff obligation to me soon— if you could see your 
way to letting me have a tenner out of the 
twenty-five pounds to — er — are you there ? — 
to pay the expenses of doing the trick. I can't 
explain, but some day I may be able to tell you 
the whole story." 

Pember then fixed this with Mr. Josephs over the 
wire ; and George was awfully glad {o send round 
his cheque for ten pounds that same morning. 

Finance seemed to Pember an easy game to 
pick up. 

Pember was deeply reluctant to bring Caucassie 
so early into his annuity scheme. Caucassie was 
a big enough trump to play in a really desperate 
case. Moreover, the child was now in the north 
of Berkshire, at one of his country seats, watched 
over as usual by his mother and Aunt Ada. 
However, Pember held at the moment a simply 
dud hand save for Caucassie, so he wrote the 
youth a letter, saying : — 

" Why don't you run-up to Town for a week 
with me, on your own ? You respectable people 
don't know what fun there is in August when 
there's no lookers-on. I could show you things ! 
By the way " 

The next day Caucassie s racing-car tootled 
outside Pember 's Dover Street windows, and 
Pember looked out, and there his cousin sat like 
a young angel ; he had rushed up for three days" 
to buy himself some socks. 

Caucassie was joyous. " What '11 we do ?" he 
asked, trustfully. 

by LiOOglC 

" I didn't mean you to take me at my word," 
said Pember, in a reproachful tone. " However, 
now you're here I'll do my best for you. Um, 
what '11 we do ? Um. I'll take you to see some 
topping people to-night. Sorter people you 
never meet in your set." 

" Oh, yes, isn't it rotten ? " said Caucassie. 
" We're a lot of stuffs. Well, you're a cheery old 
bean. We'll put in some sort of a time, anyway." 

Pember rang up Daisie and said : "I say, 
my cousin, the Marquess of Caucassie, is up in 
Town at a loose end. Let me bring him round 
to-night." Then he took Caucassie round. 

Pember had never seen anything like Daisie 
and her mother that night. They surpassed 
themselves and his expectations. Caucassie, of 
course, was very young — the thing went from 
the word " go." 

Caucassie remained in Town, and his mother, 
who was Pember's Aunt Ellen, wrote a frantic 
letter to Pember ; and Aunt Ada telegraphed. 

Pember replied : — 

" Dear Aunt Ellen, — I'm at my wit's end. 
I don't know what to do. Frank is frightfully 
entangled with a girl years older than himself. 
I don't mean that she isn't a nice girl and a 
pretty one, but she's not one of our sort. I can 
do practically nothing, as I'm so busy. I'm on 
a book — did I ever tell you ? That's what's 
keeping me away from you all this August — and 
I simply haven't the money to buy myself the 
leisure to shepherd the boy as I otherwise could. 
Why on earth did you let him come up alone ? " 

While Aunt Ellen and Aunt Ada were ordering 
and counter-ordering, and ordering emergency 
suit -cases to be packed, much was happening to 
the Caucassie family in London. 

Daisie, as has been indicated, was gourmands 
for emotional scenes, and having had a real 
purple-beauty overnight with Caucassie, she 
telephoned for him early the next morning. 

She explained that he must take her round in 
his racing-car to catch Mr. Josephs before he 
left his fiat in Eccleston Square for Victoria 
Street, because it was not right and honourable 
to keep their secret from him any longer. 

Caucassie flinched a bit. 

" It'll break him," he said. 

" You think so ? " replied Daisie, very pleased. 

" It 'ud cut any man to pieces," added 
Caucassie, fondly believing himself. 

" Oh, dear ; oh, dear ! What a lot of harm 
I do ! " said Daisie, biting her Up. " Let us go 
round and tell him at once." 

"Let. me come," said Daisie's mother, who 
never missed the vicarious joy of one of these 
affairs if she could help it. 

They found Mr. Josephs snatching a look at 
the morning paper, in his lounge hall. 

" Oh, good morning, darling," said he, reluct- 
antly, when he saw Daisie. 

" It will be terrible to tell him," murmured 
the kind-hearted girl, aside to Caucassie. 

Daisie's mother went to Mr. Josephs and 
patted his hand. 

"My dear boy," said she, "my poor boy I 
When I see you so cheerful and think — and 
think " The old lady heaved her chest. 




" I can guess what you have come to tell me." 
said Mr. Josephs, faintly, looking at Caucassie. 

"Oh, Lewis ! " said Daisie, going close to 
him, " you are rather wonderful ! " 

" Can it be true ? " Mr. Josephs murmured. 

" 'Fraid it is," said Caucassie, in rather a 
piping voice, but standing up to his sins like a 
little gentleman. " That, is to say " 

"'You and Daisie ? " murmured Mr. 


" What can I say to you, Lewis ? " said Daisie, 
hanging her. head. 

" Say nothing," replied Mr. Josephs. 

" You brave boy ! " said Daisie's mother. 

" It's pretty awful," said Mr. Josephs. 

" It's too sad," Mrs. Bledlow murmured aside 
to Caucassie. 

" I only want you to say that you understand 
and forgive me, Lewis," said Daisie, hanging 
her head. 

" Oh, please take all that as said," replied 
Mr. Josephs, taking a few dancing steps away 
from her. 

" He can't bear to speak, poor fellow," said 
Daisie's mother, drawing Caucassie to the other 
end of the room, and pretending to show him a 
stuffed heron, with the greatest delicacy and 

" Good-bye, Lewis," said Daisie to Mr. 

" Good-bye," said Mr. Josephs. 

" We shall have to go," said Daisie ; " you will 
understand that I can't stay talking to you here." 

" No, no, certainly not ! " Mr. Josephs 

" Frank is so jealous," said Daisie, with an 
effect of blushing. " Well, we'd better say 

Caucassie now tore himself from Mrs. Bledlow's 
leash, and came up, earnest and blushing. 

" Josephs," he said, " Josephs, I " 

" Don't say it, me lord, whatever it is," said 
Mr. Josephs ; " I- — I don't think I can bear any 
more." He. looked at Caucassie. " You're young 
enough to be my son," he said, remorsefully ; 

" still " He turned away and no one knew 

what he thought. 

" It isn't decent to stay," Caucassie whispered 
to Daisie. 

" But I wish I could comfort him," she replied. 

" Her Httle tender heart ! " sighed Mrs. 
Bledlow, " She has always thought of others 
since she was so high." 

" My God I " said Mr. Josephs, suddenly. " I 
can bear no more ! " ,. 

" I hope you don't think me an awful rotter," 
said the young Caucassie, humbly. 

" I forgive you, me lord," Mr. Josephs replied. 

" It's one of the saddest things I've ever seen," 
said Daisie's mother, creeping towards the door 
in a bereaved attitude. " Let me kiss you 
good-bye, my dear, dear boy." 

She kissed Mr. Josephs. 

" Frank won't mind this once, Lewis," said 
Daisie, lifting her sweet face. " Kiss me, if you 

She kissed Mr. Josephs, and followed her 
mother languishingly to the door. 


Caucassie now hesitated before Mr, Josephs, 
and* overcome by a gust of emotion, the famous 
moneylender fell upon his neck and kissed him 
so heartily that the youth broke and fled in 
confusion. / . 

That evening there was another little dinner 
in Pember's rooms, with George and Mr. Josephs 
present " and Pember at his most humorous. 
Scallop de sautnon avril, Poulet avec sauce de 
juin, and Piehes d'aout figured on the menu, but 
only Pember in his drollery knew the exact why 
and wherefore of each significant date, for a 
man of his traditions would not have dreamed 
df allowing a lady's name to be bandied at his 

By this time Aunt Ellen and Aunt Ada had 
returned to town to protect Caucassie. 

Pember went to see them. 

" If I could have been with Frank more," was 
the burden of his cry ; " but, busy on my book 
as I am " 

" Tut, tut ! " said Aunt Ellen, imperiously. 

" What's a book ? " asked Aunt Ada, dis- 

" Damnable (forgive me) as it is," said 
Pember, grinding his teeth, " money matters 
to me." 

It took the sisters an hour to persuade Pember, 
but at length they overcame his natural repug- 
nance at such a transaction sufficiently to allow 
of his agreeing to the sum of two hundred pounds 
being paid to him on the day Caucassie 's engage- 
ment with this curious person was broken. 
Pember explained to them — reckoning from 
previous calculations — that it would take at 
least a fortnight, if not longer. 

He then ordered some new clothes and 
promised John his overdue wages in about 
three weeks. ^ 

And he said to Caucassie, with a fine dignified 
gravity, " Frank, if ever you are in any trouble, 
I want you to promise to come to me. I'll stand 
by you, my boy, through thick and thin." 

Caucassie brought his trouble to Pember early 
in September. 

" It's awful ! " he whispered. 

" I know," said Pember. 

" Giggle ! giggle I giggle ! And the old girl 
nags ! " despaired Caucassie. 

" I know," said Pember. 

M I can't go through with it, cad as I'll feel/' 

" I know," said Pember. 

** She's been engaged no end of times before. 
I've found out." 

" I know," said Pember. 

" She's old enough to be my mother." 

" I know," said Pember. 

" Her mother's longing for her to hurry up 
and marry, so's she can retire from action." 

" I know," said Pember. 

" I'll bet I'm not the first chap who's felt this 
way over it." 

" I won't take you," replied Pember, droll y. 

" What a lot you seem to know," said Cau- 
cassie, beginning to stare. 

Pember recovered himself warily, and began 
to come to terms. " I wish I wasn't so busy 
with my book I " he started, regretfully. 





" I'll buy all the unborn rights in it/' said 
Caucassie, "if only " 

" Of course, you must get out of it quietly, 
like a gentleman/' Pember remarked. " Breach 
simply isn't done/' 

** Oh, no, no, no I " said Caucassie, shivering. 

" I'm sorry you got yourself into this mess, 
Frank/' said Pember ; " when I introduced you 
to the Bled lows I somehow thought you were a 
harder-headed chap. Ail my fault I All my 
fault J *' 

" Oh, come, old thing, no, no 1 " Caucassie 

*' I blame myself entirely/' said Pember, 
lighting a cigarette to hkle his smile of apprecia- 
tion of his own humour. 

Caucassie had offered Pember a hundred, by 
the time he left, to get him out with honours. 

Now C^ucassfe was a very nice lad to his 
mother and Aunt Ada. He dined with them la 
a chastened mood that evening, and Aunt Ada 
laid her hand on her nephew's head and said :- — 

*■ Should you regret* dear — your cousin " 

Then, in spite of Aunt Ellen's warning glance. 
Aunt Ada continued : — 

** Says he thinks he could get you out of it, 
quite honourably. Oh, quite I Quite I " 

Caucassie felt a little shock in his brain ; and 
then his head was un wonted ly clear. 

Digitized by CjOQQ I C 

M If he could only spare time from his book ! '* 
said he, pensively. 

There was a pause. Then Aunt Ada I — 

" Your dear mother and I were able to arrange 
that his pecuniary prospects would not suffer, if 
only " 

Caucassie rose and kissed his mother. He 
kissed Aunt Ada, " You're toppers ! " he said, 
in a choked voice. He strolled to the door. 
There he turned, and added : * f Good old Pember ! 
Always on the spot ! You' re makin' it worth 
his while, aren't yon P dears ? " 

"Two hundred on the day," said Aunt Ada, 
" He seemed quite confident," 

" We could not but notice your unhappiness, 
darling/' said Caucassie 's mother. 

"I like Pember I " said the Marquess* with 
deep feeling, " Always up in the morning 1 
Always there I " 

He went out rather hastily. 

While Caucassie was still in bed next morning, 
opening his letters and smoking a cigarette, Mr. 
Josephs was shown in. 

M Got your telephone message when I came 
in last night, me lord/' said Mr. Josephs, "and 
dropped in as requested, Is there — — ? J * 

The Marquess pushed the cigarette-box across 
the table swung over his bed. 

*' Josephs/' he said, nicking a wisp of ash 




from the breast of his rose-silk pyjamas, " this 
ain't a moment for circumlocution, or even the 
common decencies, or being a gentleman, or 
anything like that. What I sent for you to 
know is : I stole Miss Bledlow from you, but 
whom did you steal her from ? " 

'< Man called ' George,' " said Mr. Josephs. 

" I've met a man called George at my cousin 
Pember's," Caucassie murmured. 

" Ah ! it was your good cousin " said 

Mr. Josephs, with great feeling. 

" Who helped you out of the mess honourably? " 
murmured Caucassie. 

Mr. Josephs assented. 

" He's a dear chap," said Caucassie, " but as 
broke as a new kitten. And so busy on his book, 
that I hope you " 

" Certainly," said Mr. Josephs. " I'd 'a' paid 
anything to anybody." 

" Josephs," said the young Caucassie, now 
leaning towards the moneylender with a boyish . 
candour, " I want a little talk with you." 

At the end of the little talk, Caucassie said : 
" Well, Broad Walk at three," and Mr. Josephs 
went away, and the Marquess rose, bathed, 
dressed with a certain anticipatory pleasure, and y 
drove the racer slickly down to the Temple. 

There was George. 

" Halloa, George ! " said Caucassie: " Excuse 
my familiarity, but it's the only name I know 
you by. I've come to ask you two questions, the 
reasons for which I'll explain to your entire 
satisfaction by'n by. Josephs stole Miss Bledlow 
from you, but whom did you steal her from ? " 

" Pember," said George; "but he was awf'ly 
decent about it." 

" Isn't he a good fellow ? " exclaimed Cau- 
cassie, with the utmost enthusiasm. " And 
always there. You never roiss seeing Pember." 

"I'm awf'ly fond of the chap," said George. 
" Sit down, won't you ? As a matter of fact, it 
was Pember " 

" Who got you out of it honourably ? " mur- 
mured Caucassie. 

" Yes," George replied. 

" One other question," said Caucassie, per- 
suasively. " You didn't take the dear chap's 
precious time- and brain " 

" I paid him twenty-five pounds," said George, 
beginning to be thoughtful. 

" That all ? " murmured Caucassie. 

" Well, there was ten pounds " said George. 

Caucassie left the Temple ten minutes later 
with the words : " You go up a little stair and 
through a curtain and there it is." 

He drove to Dover Street. 

" Mr. Pember's out, your lordship," said John, 

" I knew he would be," said Caucassie, 
" lunchin' with her ladyship, I- believe. As a 
matter of fact, I came to see you, John, to 
get you to do me a little service this afternoon at 
five o'clock exactly. And now I'll just use your 

Caucassie held a teuder conversation with 

" Tell Mr. Pember I partie'larly hope he'll 
dine with me at the Bath Club to-night, John," 
he said as he went out. 

After Caucassie had lunched at one of his 
other clubs, he drove — taking his chauffeur — to 
fetch Daisie out to tea. 

Never had Daisie found the lad so loving and 
thoughtful. A perfection not of this world 
brooded about him. And he said he wanted to 
see the leaves fall in Kensington Gardens, so 
they left the car at the Bayswater side with 
instructions to meet them on the Kensington 
side, and they walked slowly up the Broad Walk, 
and by Caucassie's entreaty sat down on a seat. 

" Drift, drift," said Caucassie, pointing to a 
few leaves on the path. 

" You are dreadful," said Daisie, archly. 

" Life is dreadful," said Caucassie, " but so is 

" Don't be so naughty," replied Miss Bledlow. 

" I ought to have told you," said Caucassie. 

" Told me what ? " she exclaimed. 

" I adore you so," Caucassie mourned. " It 
was hard to do the right thing, and I didn't do 
it. But this morning something came over me, 
and I'm going to do it now. You ought to know 
about my health." 

" Health ? " echoed the poor girl, starting 

Caucassie nodded, and looked into the green 

" Consumptive." * 

Daisie sat so still that she had quite a 
statuesque look. 

" Mother always takes me to St. Moritz in 
the winter," said Caucassie, who had never missed 
a season in Leicestershire since the age of three. 
" But it's only prolonging the agony. This high 
colour of mine — all hectic, y'know. One day I 
shall drift out suddenly like one of those leaves 
drifts off its tree. Whiff! I'll be gone 1 Forgive 
my not tellin'* you before. You ought to be 
marrying my cousin Pember. Not a poor crock 
like me. Pember's next on the male line ; and 
what a chap he is ! You'll see he'll be Prime 
Minister of England as well as Marquess of Cau- 
cassie before he's done. Oh, what a grand chap ! 
But you're looking cold, darling. Quite bleak. 
I'll take you at once to have tea." 

Just as they rose from the seat, Mr. Josephs 
came walking briskly by, dark and suave, with 
a large white flower in his buttonhole. He 
looked longingly at Daisie, and then addressed 

" I've just met your cousin Pember. A fine 
fellow ! And what abilities 1 There isn't a 
thing your cousin couldn't do if he'd the mind. 
There isn't his match in England. He's talked 
of a great deal in political and Court circles, 
they say. These dark 'orses — these dark 'orses ! " 

Daisie entered the car, on the Kensington 
side, with an air of great quietude, and the 
Marquess sat beside her extolling his cousin 
Pember all the way to Bond Street. 

When they had gone up a little stair and 
through a curtain, there it was : a small green 
tea-room ; and there was George too, with a 
very scrap-lot-looking girl, but he hadn't had 
much time to make better arrangements. 

" I was once engaged to lam," said Daisie to 
Caucassie, unable to restrain her pride when she 



saw George. " And see what kind of persons 
I've driven him to ! Oh, a girl like me does a 
lot of harm I It's heartbreaking if you've got 
feelings. Oh, oh, oh ! Look, he's coming ! 
It's like a moth and a candle, isn't it ? " 

George said, with melancholy, " I won't stay 
a moment, Dai — Miss Bledlow. I just came 
over to say, Caucassie, that I dropped across 
old Pember this morning. He's the most wonder- 
ful man in- London. This book of his is going to 
make a direct hit. Great stuff ! They say his 
publisher himself sat up all night reading it. 
It's all round town already that it's — simp-ly — 
scan — dalous. And it's over-subscribed. Think 
of the money ! Think of the money I " 

After George had drifted back to his table 
Daisie said in a little voice, bending her head 
very prettily : — 

" I ought to tell you, Frank, that once I 
treated your cousin P-Pember v-very, v-v-very 

As Daisie and Caucassie emerged into Bond 
Street precisely at five o'clock John came by 
primly, and Caucassie stopped him. 

" Why, John, how are you ? Mr. Pember 
busy to-day ? " 

John looked indescribably arch, even for a 
family servant. 

" Mr. Pember, me lord, is out driving in the 
Park with the Countess of Mainborough and 
Lady Honora." 

" A~ha ! " said the young Caucassie. 

" I give it a week, sir," added John, putting 
his head on one side. 

" I withhold my congratulations for one week 
more, do L John ? " chirruped Caucassie. 

** P'r'aps less, me lord — p'r'aps less," replied 

M What is that ? " said Daisie, in a very little 
voice indeed when she was settled again with 
Caucassie in the car. 

" Well, Lady Mainborough thinks it's practi- 
cally settled, darling," replied Caucassie. taking 
Daisie's hand tenderly. " We needn't grudge 
others happiness like ours, need we?" 

" I don't know," said Daisie, looking 

Pember sauntered round to the Bath Club 
that evening, wearing his new dinner-jacket 
and looking his very best self. He found his 
cousin cheerful, but with an awkward idea about 
principles and things like that. 

" I'm goin' to carry on, old thing," he said 
to Pember. 

Pember's mouth fell open. 

" What d'you mean ? " he demanded. " My 
poor boy, you're not-- — " 

" The girl's got to be married this time," 
replied Caucassie, " and I'm not goin* to shirk 
it. The weddin' will be quite soon, and quiet. 
I've talked it all out with Daisie. Only thing I 
want of you is your promise to be there." 

Pember was in a horrid state of anxiety, but 
he managed to reply hoarsely : "I shall be 
there. If there's *a wedding at all, rely on me 
at least to be there." 

" Thank you, old bean," said Caucassie. 

" But don't give up hope I " cried Pember. 

Digitized by tjOOglC 

" Stick to our arrangement. Let me get you 
out of it." 

" No, no ! " said Caucassie, like a little man, 

Pember thought of Aunt Ellen and Aunt Ada. 
And he really had a plan. A marquess, he knew, 
would take some beating, but he'd read in his 
paper thar morning that the Rajah of Apatam, 
a person easily snared, was arriving in London 

" Wait ! " he begged. " Don't throw yourself 
away. Let me " 

But the young Caucassie was firm. His 
intrepidity in face of all arguments made Pember 

And Pember went home, stricken. 

" John," he said, feebly,* " something rather 
awful has happened. Bring me a whisky-and- 
soda and let me think. 

Pember lost half a pound in weight thinking 
that night, but it wasn't any good. He was 
aroused from uneasy slumber next morning at 
ten o'clock by John, who announced that